Beyond the Shadows
by Inkletter
Summary: She wasn't always this cold. Then again, she wasn't always a criminal either. The story of how one thief finds her peace and prosperity. Brynjolf x Nord OC.
1. The Errand

**Disclaimer: **All characters, besides my OC, belong to Bethesda, as does the Thieves Guild questline.

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><p>It was a cold Frostfall evening. The sky was clear and alive with thousands of celestial fires, laced with bands of eerie green light. Few people were awake at this hour, and those that were had gone to the Bee and Barb for food and drink. All was quiet.<p>

A lone Nord woman emerged from the shadows. At her waist was a dagger, and on her back she carried a bow and quiver. At first glance, she appeared to be nothing more than a simple wanderer, making a living off of bounty quests and random jobs. And that's exactly what she led people to believe.

She had slipped into Riften just that morning, the shady city being one of the few places in Skyrim she had yet to visit. Upon her arrival, the man guarding the gate demanded that she pay a visitor's tax. In response, she threatened to let the _real_ guards know what he was: a thief. She knew he was a thief. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself. If he had been a more practiced larcenist, perhaps she would have paid the sum. But she had dealt with thieves all her life, and because of this, she had walked through the gates without a hitch.

After renting a room at the Bee and Barb, she lurked about the city until nightfall, scoping out shops and stands. She kept an eye on guard activity and noticed the somewhat lazy nature of the town's sentries. Riften had the highest crime rate in all of Skyrim, and she could tell by the blank stares and shirked watches of the guardsmen that there wasn't much they could—or would—do about it.

Still, she would be careful. She was always careful.

Using the shadows of buildings as a source of concealment, she made her way to the town marketplace. Sliding against the stone wall, she crouched behind a wooden stand that an Argonian had been selling jewelry at all day. After drawing a lockpick from her pocket, it was a matter of seconds before the tumblers fell into place and the strongbox clicked open.

_That lizard was a fool to leave his jewels so loosely locked up, _she thought. _Especially in a town like this._

The contents of the strongbox were not plentiful, but it would be enough to get her by for a few weeks. She should have known that the Argonian would have exaggerated the descriptions of his wares. After pocketing seventy-five septims, two amethysts, a flawless ruby, and a silver ring, she slipped out from behind the stand and back into the shadows.

She was halfway back to the Bee and Barb when a hand touched her shoulder.

"I saw what you did, lass," said the stranger.

Instinctively, she yanked her dagger from its sheath and whirled around to face the man. "And you'll keep quiet, if you know what's good for you."

To her surprise, the man smiled, and a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. "Oh, there's no need for that, lass. I'm not here to turn you in. I'm here to recruit you for a...particular errand."

She didn't know whether or not to trust this man. He seemed honest enough, but then again, Riften wasn't exactly known for its honest and well-rounded citizens. "And just what kind of 'errand' are we talking about?"

She had run "errands" for people before. People who wanted to steal the possessions of another, but didn't have the stomach to do it themselves. She didn't like performing these tasks, but if she wanted coin in her pocket and bread in her stomach, she had to.

The man looked her over, eying the dagger in her hand and the pack at her waist. "You've never done an honest day's work in your life, have you, lass?"

She met his eyes with a guarded glance. "And how could you possibly know that?"

"You mean, besides the fact that I just watched you loot Madesi's stall?"

That was the other question: how had he seen her? She always made doubly sure no guards or townsfolk were around when she performed a robbery. The only way he could have seen, was if he had been watching her all day.

"Have you been following me?" she demanded.

The stranger smiled. "Aye, lass. I've had my eye on you. It's my job to keep an eye out for thieves."

"But you're not a guard," she said matter-of-factly.

"You're right, I'm not. I don't look for thieves so I can turn them in. I look for _recruits._"

"Recruits? What for?"

"Haven't you ever heard of the Thieves Guild, lass?"

Now she understood. This man had watched her pillage the Argonian's stand, simply to see if she had the skill to be part of his faction. "Of course I have. And I'm guessing you'd like me to give up my freedom and join your little club?"

The man shook his head. "No, lass. It isn't like that. You see, my outfit has run into a bit of rough patch lately. We need people like you to help the Guild get back on its feet. No one will force you to stay if you don't find it to your liking, but I have a feeling you will. Why not give it a chance?"

She considered his offer. _Well, I haven't got much to lose, _she thought. _If this turns out to be a ruse, I'll just leave Riften._

"Alright. One chance," she said with a tone of finality. "Is this where that 'errand' comes in?"

The man seemed pleased with her response. "Aye. And frankly, you've already made it easier for yourself."

"How is that?"

"Well, there's someone in town that wants the Dunmer, Brand-Shei, put out of business for good. I was going to have you steal Madesi's silver ring, but since you've already got that covered, it's only a matter of reverse pickpocketing," he explained.

"You mean, framing the elf."

"If you want to put it that way, yes."

_A reverse pickpocketing_, she thought. She'd had plenty of experience pickpocketing in the traditional manner, so how different could it be the other way around? "Okay. I'm in," she said.

"Excellent. I'll be here tomorrow morning at eight. Talk to me then and we'll get started." He reached his hand out. "I'm Brynjolf, by the way. What do they call you?"

She grasped his hand and shook it. "I'm Alora. Alora Swiftknife."


	2. The New Recruit

"I'm telling you, this one is different," said Brynjolf.

Delvin chortled into his tankard. "Right. And so was the last one. And the one before..."

"Shut up, Del, would you?" Vex snapped, then turned to Brynjolf. "He's got a right to laugh, though. The last two saps you recruited never even made it to the Flagon."

"This lass will. I reckon they don't call her 'Swiftknife' for nothing, eh?" said Brynjolf.

Delvin shrugged. "From the way you described her, she seemed ready enough to gut you herself. Not exactly a thief's way of thinkin'."

"That's not important right now," said Brynjolf. "What matters is that she stole the ring and planted it on Brand-Shei without a single soul noticing. Our client is satisfied, we got some gold flowing, and everyone's happy."

"Well, hopefully this one's got the skill to make it here in one piece," Vex muttered. "That alone would be—"

Suddenly, the door to the Flagon creaked open. All three thieves whipped their heads around in surprise. A woman entered the room, looking haggard and irritated but otherwise unharmed. Her hood was down, revealing uncharacteristically dark hair for a Nord. It fell past her shoulder blades, with a single braid winding through the front. She had a Nord's height and pale skin, but lacked the brawny muscles most of her kin possessed. Frown lines were etched into her forehead, giving her the appearance of a permanent scowl.

"Is that her?" Delvin whispered to Brynjolf. He nodded. Delvin whistled, earning an elbow in the gut.

"Sorry I couldn't be here sooner," said Alora. She flicked crimson blood droplets off of her dagger and sheathed the weapon. "I wasn't expecting a welcoming committee."

Delvin snorted, and Vex actually laughed. "Well, we weren't exactly expecting to see _you,_" she mused.

"Yeah," Delvin added. "Maybe dead, but certainly not alive."

Brynjolf hushed them with a glare, then faced his newest recruit. "Well, you've met Delvin and Vex. They're third in command around here. If you're looking for some extra coin, or need a little training, talk to them. If you decide to stay with us, that is."

"I ain't trainin' you until you've proven yourself," said Delvin. "Goodness sakes, Bryn. She ain't part of the Guild yet. Not till Mercer says, anyway." Vex nodded in silent agreement.

"I don't think she'll have any problem proving herself to Mercer," Brynjolf stated.

"Wait—I'm not even in the Guild yet?" Alora asked, affronted. "I planted the ring on that stupid elf. I nearly died on my way in here. Yet there's _more_ I must do? And who's this Mercer?"

"Don't get so angry, lass. We all had our trials," Brynjolf said calmly. "Mercer's the Guildmaster. He decides who stays and who goes. I just reel in the recruits."

"You probably won't have any trouble getting in," Delvin said. "What with the way things have been going..."

"She'll be fine," said Brynjolf. "Come on, lass. I'll show you where you can eat and rest."

Over the next hour, Brynjolf gave Alora a tour of the Cistern. He gave her permission to use any of the Guild beds and eat from their food supply for as long as she stayed. He showed her the training room, and pointed out areas for honing her lockpicking, archery, and melee fighting skills.

"If you don't want to train with Delvin or Vex, feel free to use this room by yourself," said Brynjolf. "But I would talk to them if I were you. I know they're a bit mouthy, but the more coin you earn, the more they'll warm up to you. I promise, lass."

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><p>After Brynjolf and Alora disappeared into the Cistern, Vex turned to Delvin. "I'll give her two weeks, max. Bryn's recruits rarely make it to the Flagon, and when they do, they're gone once they realize there's barely any coin coming in."<p>

Delvin took a long draught of mead. "Who's to tell? She surprised us once. Maybe she'll surprise us again."


	3. The Mission

**A/N: **Thank you to those of you that have reviewed the past few chapters! It's very encouraging. :) I hope you enjoy Chapter 3!

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><p><em>Thud<em>. Alora's arrow struck the center of the target, right where a man's heart would be. Fitting another arrow to her bowstring, she pulled back and released. The head embedded itself right next to the first.

Slowly she built up a rhythm. Nock, pull, shoot. Nock, pull, shoot. A song played inside of her mind, and she sang along with it.

_I am a bird, flying fast and free_

_Over the rivers, over the trees_

_High above the frothy seas_

_Don't you wish that you were me?_

The speed of Alora's shooting increased with the tempo of the song. Nock, pull, shoot, _thud_. Nock, pull, shoot, _thud_.

_Yes, bird, I wish I were you_

_I'd soar the clouds and skies so blue_

_Never again touch grass or dew_

_And get away from the world I knew._

She paused to retrieve her arrows and sip some water. Then, with a clean target, she finished her song.

_The earth is broken, full of lies_

_What I would give to sail the skies_

_A life away from prying eyes_

_Wearing wings as my disguise._

As soon as the last note escaped her throat, the door to the training room opened. Brynjolf entered, followed by a man Alora had never seen before.

"This is the one I was talking about," Brynjolf said to the man. "Thought I might find you in here, lass."

Alora released her final arrow. Every square inch of the bulls-eye was covered in wooden shafts. Before turning to face Brynjolf and the other man, she retrieved every last one. Putting her bow and quiver against the wall, she stretched out her arms and approached the visitors.

"I was just telling Mercer here about how well you handled your last job," said Brynjolf. "Cleanly, too."

Her final "trial" assignment had been to collect sums of gold from three people that owed the Thieves Guild money. Normally she would have used threats to get the coin, but Brynjolf informed her that the Thieves Guild doesn't use those tactics.

"There are more creative ways of getting things like this done," he had said. "We can't turn a profit by killing, and threats are useless. They know it's not how we operate."

And so she had done it, using Brynjolf's ideas and resisting the urge to use her knife. It had been a challenge for her, patience not being one of her redeeming qualities. But she had done it, and it had earned her a spot in the Guild and a pocketful of gold.

Mercer looked her over, his cold eyes calculating. "Brynjolf has assured me that you'll be nothing but an asset to our guild. I'm not so sure. You might be one of us now, but you're still a recruit by my standards." He turned to Brynjolf. "Perhaps we ought to send her on a _real _mission."

Brynjolf raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You're not talking about Goldenglow, are you? Even our little Vex couldn't get in."

Mercer crossed his arms. "If she's as capable as you say she is, then there shouldn't be any problem." Then he left them.

Alora looked at Brynjolf with hard amber eyes. "What's his deal?"

Brynjolf shrugged. "That's just how he is. Don't let it get to you, lass. If you can pull off this mission, he'll trust you more."

"Is that how everyone thinks around here?" Alora asked, thinking of Delvin and Vex. "You seem to be the only one that has any faith in me at all."

"I'm not the only one," Brynjolf said with a smile. "The others have their doubts for good reasons, but I know they'll take to you. Especially if you succeed with Goldenglow."

"What's Goldenglow?" she asked.

"Goldenglow Estate, lass. Ever hear of Maven Black-Briar?" Alora nodded. "That's where she gets the honey for her meadery. The Guild has ties with Maven and Goldenglow, and lately the owner, Aringoth, hasn't been honoring his bargain with us. You're going to teach him a lesson."

"Sort of like this morning?" Alora asked.

"Sort of, but it will be about ten times more difficult." Brynjolf sighed and ran a hand through his red hair. "The place is heavily guarded, so I'd have that bow ready if I were you. Also, in addition to interrogating the elf, you have to set three of the beehives on fire. No more, no less. We can't have Maven angry with us for slowing her mead production."

"Fire?" Alora muttered nervously. "Is there any other means of...destroying the hives?"

"None. They're built like fortresses. But their one weakness is flame. Just take a torch to 'em. Or magic, if that's your thing," said Brynjolf.

"No," Alora said defiantly. "No magic."

Brynjolf shrugged. "Alright then. You'd be well off talking to Vex before you leave. She knows Goldenglow better than anyone else here. Oh, and talk to Tonilia. She'll set you up with some new—hey, are you okay?"

Alora nodded, regaining her composure. "Yes, I'm fine. When should I be off?"

Brynjolf did not appear convinced, but let the matter go. "By dawn tomorrow. Try not to get hurt, alright, lass?" And he was gone.


	4. The Estate

_Why am I doing this? _Alora thought as her head broke the surface of Lake Honrich. She could have taken the journey to Goldenglow by foot, but Vex had advised her otherwise. Swallowing a mouthful of air, she dove back under the lukewarm water.

The sun's rays were just beginning to touch the sky. Instead of its usual gray hue, the waters of Lake Honrich reflected a lovely orange-pink. If she were going for a leisurely swim, Alora would have stopped to admire the beautiful sight. But she was on a mission, and there wasn't a moment to lose.

She hadn't even been sure she _wanted_ to go. Brynjolf did say she didn't have to stick with the Guild. And this was a dangerous task. However, the soft jingle of gold in her pocket managed to convince her otherwise.

At last she reached solid ground. Pulling herself onto the grass, she marveled at how well her new Guild armor had stayed dry. She couldn't say the same for her hair, though. After tying the dripping locks into a horsetail, she removed her bow from its waterproof case. The Estate was directly across a stone bridge and closed off by a wooden gate. At the door, she spotted a tired-looking mercenary.

_So that's why Brynjolf had me come this early_, she thought. _They're exhausted._

It was an effortless shot. She ducked behind a tree, nocked an arrow, and released. It caught the man square between the eyes. He fell without a sound.

She knew that he would be her only easy kill on this mission.

Checking to see that no other mercenaries were in sight, she crept up to the gate and searched the man's pockets. Within seconds she fished out the gate key. After making sure he had no other valuables on him, she inserted the key into the lock.

Witha _click_, the gate swung open.

Mistake number one.

Two mercenaries were standing watch nearby. At the sound of the gate opening, they whirled around and spotted her. Before either of them could raise the alarm, arrows pierced their throats, and they collapsed. Alora searched their pockets, but found nothing.

"Luck," she muttered under her breath. "That was pure luck."

"Was it, though?" said a voice behind her. In a flash, Alora drew her dagger and plunged it into the man's heart, but not before he let out a scream.

In that instant, she knew being stealthy was of no more use. Sheathing the blade, she readied her bow for oncoming pursuers. Sure enough, four mercenaries rounded the corner of the Estate, shouting in anger and confusion. She shot down one of them on sight.

Mistake number two.

Shooting one of the guards had given away her position, and now they knew what kind of weapon she used. They advanced toward her in zigzag patterns, preventing her from getting a clear shot. Before they got too close, though, she managed to shoot down a second man.

Melee fighting wasn't her first choice, but now it was her only choice. As the remaining mercenaries drew closer, she filled both of her hands with shining silver daggers.

One man carried a deadly-looking battleaxe; the other, a sword and shield. With a flurry of motion, she slashed and sliced at her attackers, biting through skin and fur armor. They had more powerful weapons, but she was quicker on her feet. Backing away from the axe's downward swing, she threw a dagger at the man's heart.

It was a successful throw, but now she was down to one blade. With fire in her eyes and adrenaline coursing through her veins, she advanced on the final mercenary.

"You call yourself a Nord?" he taunted, slashing at her side. With seconds to spare she jumped away, slicing his hand in the process. Blood gushed from the wound and he lost his grip on the sword.

"You call yourself a guard?" she mocked, and stabbed him in the gut.

Breathing heavily, she withdrew her knife from the axe-wielder's chest and cleaned both blades. Putting the weapons away, she seized the opportunity to rest and drink from her water flask.

Vex had estimated there to be about eight mercenaries guarding the Estate. Counting on her fingers, she realized that she had only killed seven. Either Vex miscounted, or there were more inside.

She was betting on the latter.

Standing, she readied her bow and crept along the perimeter of the Estate. Vex had also advised her to sneak in through a sewer outside of the building.

"Don't waste lockpicks on the front door," she had said. "If you can't get the key from the elf, you'll need them to pick open the safe."

After slipping inside the sewer grate, she was relieved to find that the only enemies awaiting her were skeevers. Still, they carried a variety of nasty diseases, so she shot them from a distance to avoid getting bit.

Once her head popped above ground, she slid out of the tunnel and made her way to the back door. This door was less tightly locked up than the front, as Vex had said. She was able to open it with only a few broken picks.

Inside the Estate, it was mysteriously quiet. With silent footfalls, she slipped in and out of rooms, looking for Aringoth and his safe.

Suddenly, two mercenaries appeared around a corner. She withdrew into the shadows, but wasn't quick enough.

"Who's there?" said one of the men, drawing a greatsword.

Quietly as she could, Alora nocked an arrow and shot the man through the chest. The second mercenary jumped in surprise, his eyes searching for her location.

He spotted her a moment too late, however.

After the second man collapsed, she searched his pockets and found a key. She wasn't sure what it was for, but hopefully it would save her a few lockpicks.

Once she was sure no other mercenaries were pursuing her, she made her way across the hall and up a flight of stairs. The key fit into the locked door easily. She noiselessly slid inside, relieved that no guards were in sight.

It wasn't long before she found Aringoth's quarters, as two mercenaries were stationed outside the door. Taking a deep breath, she turned her bow sideways and loosed two arrows at once.

Both men crumpled to the ground.

_Hopefully that's the last of them_, she thought, checking their pockets for keys. Sure enough, one of them had the key to Aringoth's room.

Inside the lavish bedroom, she found the elf cowering behind a bookshelf. "Useless mercenaries," he muttered. "I didn't think Mercer would allow me to get away with this, but I had little choice."

Alora unsheathed one of her daggers. The blade gleamed evilly in the lamplight. "Game's over, elf. Hand over the key to your safe, or I'll kill you." Brynjolf had instructed her to leave the elf alive, unless he prevented her from getting the job done. She would give him once chance to give her the key. Just one.

The elf snickered. "I don't believe you. It's not your way!"

She tightened her grip on the blade. "No. It's not _their_ way. Who's to say it isn't _my_ way?"

Aringoth's eyes narrowed. "Your petty threats don't scare me, Nord."

Sudden pain shot through Alora's leg. Looking down, she noticed that the elf had pierced her thigh with a knife of his own.

Bloodlust burned in her eyes. "I'll make you pay for that," she said through gritted teeth. And with a mighty thrust, her dagger found itself embedded in Aringoth's chest.

After sheathing her weapon, she yanked the safe key from Aringoth's corpse. "Good riddance," she muttered, then turned her attention to the blood sheeting down her leg. The cut was neither deep nor wide, but she would have to bind it before she lost too much blood. Tearing a strip of cloth from her undertunic, she wrapped up the wound as best she could.

To her eminent relief, she was able to put weight on her leg without an unbearable amount of pain; however, there was a pronounced limp in her stride.

_It's a good thing all the guards are dead,_ she thought. _With this leg, I'll be lucky if all of Riften doesn't hear me stumbling about._

Once she found her way downstairs, finding the safe and looting its contents was easy. However, she couldn't help but think she was forgetting something.

"The beehives!" she exclaimed, then groaned. She would rather fight ten mercenaries with her bad leg than go anywhere near an open flame.

Outside the Estate, she spotted the hives' location. "It'll be over in a minute," she told herself. With shaking fingers, she pulled a torch from its sconce and quickly sent orange fire crawling up the sides of three hives. Then she tossed it into the lake.

"Never again," she said with a shudder. "_Never_ again."

Slowly, carefully, she dropped into the lake. It was easier to swim with her leg than walk, and she was eager to put as much distance between her and the burning hives as possible. Even with her wound, she was able to swim away quickly.

After pulling herself onto dry land, she re-bandaged her leg with a clean strip of cloth. The flow of blood was slowing, but it still pained her greatly. She'd have to tend to it more when she got back to the Cistern.

Grimacing, she stood up, but not before glancing back at Goldenglow. She watched as the orange fire flickered out of existence, leaving nothing but smoking rubble in its wake.

Mistake number three.

Her throat tightened, and a sudden flow of tears blurred her vision. Stubbornness made her brush them away before they could spill onto her cheeks.

With her mouth set in a grim line, she headed back toward Riften, limping all the way.


	5. The Wound

When Alora arrived back at the Ragged Flagon, she nearly collapsed upon entry. The stress of the day's events combined with her injury had left her pale-faced and exhausted. All she could think about was rest.

She hardly noticed when two pairs of strong arms lifted her on either side, erasing the burden walking had become. Finding her strength, she looked up into the concerned face of Brynjolf and the surprised face of Delvin. They situated her into a wooden chair, propping her leg up on another.

"I did the job," Alora said weakly. Reaching into her pack, she produced the contents of Aringoth's safe: a purse of gold and a folded up piece of parchment.

Brynjolf took the items and passed them to Delvin. "Take these to Mercer. Tell him the lass completed the job. And get me Niruin. He knows a thing or two about healing." Delvin nodded and disappeared into the Cistern.

Alora winced as Brynjolf's gentle fingers began peeling back the bloodstained cloth. "Careful," she whispered. "Gods, please don't touch it."

At the sight of her wound, Brynjolf gave a low whistle. "What in Tamriel caused this?"

"Damn elf stuck me with a knife," she muttered. "Caught me when I wasn't looking."

"I thought I asked you not to get hurt," Brynjolf said.

"Sorry to disappoint."

He chuckled and turned to the barman. "Oi, Vekel! Get the poor lass some mead. She's in for a rough night."

Two drinks later, Delvin and a wood elf Alora assumed was Niruin appeared from the Cistern. They carried in a bucket of water, cloth rags, a needle, and some thread. Brynjolf unlaced the leather greave covering her thigh and cut away her left pant leg, exposing the wound and her blood-covered limb.

"Don't worry," said Niruin calmly. "I'll bet it looks worse than it is."

After the elf cleaned off the excess blood, Alora found out how greatly she had misjudged the severity of her wound. It wasn't a cut, it was a full-on stab. Niruin would have to stitch it up. Luckily, the mead in her system helped lessen the pain of the needle's sharp point.

"All done," said Niruin, snipping the thread and knotting it in place. "Now all I have to do is apply a bit of healing magic and it should repair in a couple of days."

"No!" Alora blurted, startling the elf. "Please, don't."

"If I don't, you're in for a great deal of pain. It'll heal much slower than it would otherwise," said Niruin cautiously.

"Please," Alora pleaded. "Please don't use magic on me."

Brynjolf knelt to her eye level. "Lass, look at me," he said. "I don't know why you're so hostile toward magic, but I promise, everything will be fine. Niruin's healed all of us at one time or another. You can trust him."

The word "trust" caught her off guard. She didn't trust anyone. Especially not magicians. Biting her lip, she glanced from Brynjolf to Niruin and back again.

"It'll only take a few seconds," Niruin assured her. "I think you'd be wise to let me heal you."

He had no idea what he was saying. No idea how magic had affected her life. How magic had _destroyed _her life. But she couldn't deny that he was right. If she didn't let the elf heal her, the wound would pain her for weeks to come.

"We're right here with you, lass," said Brynjolf. Something about the calmness in his voice assuaged her fear and slowed her nervous heartbeat.

"...Alright. Just please, make it quick," Alora said softly.

Niruin nodded and rolled up his sleeves. She watched anxiously as he chanted slowly and ribbons of yellow light wound through his fingers. When he placed his palms above the gash, she closed her eyes tightly and gripped the bottom of her chair with white-knuckled hands. Why had she agreed to this? She could _feel_ the magic penetrating her wound, healing damage beneath the skin.

"And that should do it," Niruin said, withdrawing the magic.

It took all of her remaining strength to let go of the chair. She trembled all over, feeling relieved that it was over but scared that it happened.

"Will you be alright?" Niruin asked.

Deep down, she knew the elf had done her a kindness. He had spent time and energy caring for her wound. At the very least, she owed him thanks. But in that moment, she felt as if Niruin had hurt her rather than helped her. Thanking him didn't even cross her mind. She found herself unable to speak at all.

When she didn't respond, Brynjolf spoke for her. "She'll be okay. Thank you, Niruin. I'll take it from here." The elf nodded, gathered his supplies, and left them.

With shaking fingers, Alora reached for her mead tankard. After a few sips, her head began to clear and she was able to return to herself somewhat.

"You really hate magic, don't you, lass?" Brynjolf asked.

"More than you could possibly imagine."

"Would you be willing to tell me about it?"

Alora considered him for a moment, then shook her head. "Not now." The mission, the wound, the magic. It was all too much for one day.

Brynjolf nodded, understanding. "You should probably get to bed. Can you walk?"

She stood, and immediately fell back into her chair. Her limbs were still too unstable. "Guess not," she said wearily. Sudden tiredness swept over her, clouding her eyes and weakening her movements.

Without warning, Alora found herself being lifted off the ground. Her head rested comfortably on Brynjolf's shoulder as he carried her into the Cistern and placed her on one of the many Guild beds.

"Sleep," he murmured, brushing hair out of her face. "That's what you need most."

Soothed by his presence, Alora's eyes closed, and sleep came easily.

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><p><strong>AN: **Hope you're enjoying the story so far! Reviews are always appreciated. :) Thank you!


	6. The Welcome

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews! They're very encouraging and keep me wanting to update faster for everyone. Enjoy Chapter 6!

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><p>Dreams roiled through Alora's mind. The visions seemed so real, so tangible, that she had trouble distinguishing what was real and what was not.<p>

_A flock of black birds soared through the evening sky. She watched enviously from the ground, itching to join them._

"Lass, wake up."

_The birds called to her, singing her name. "Alora, Alora..."_

"You'll have to be louder, Bryn. She's out cold."

_Slowly, the birds descended toward her. They grabbed hold of her clothing, lifting her off the ground._

"Move, I'll wake her. Swiftknife! Get up!"

Alora jerked awake. With some disappointment, she realized she was in the Guild Cistern, not in the sky. She rubbed her eyes and blinked several times to rid them of bleariness. When they cleared, she was surprised to see Brynjolf, Delvin, and Vex standing over her bed. "What's going on...?"

"You've been asleep for two damn days, that's what's going on," said Delvin. "Figured it was time we got you up."

"Two days? But how..."

"You lost quite a bit of blood, lass," said Brynjolf.

"Yeah, we had lots of fun cleaning _that_ up," Vex grumbled.

"Shut up, Vex," Delvin growled. "At least _she_ got the job done."

"Enough, both of you," Brynjolf snapped, then turned to Alora. "How's your leg?"

Inspecting her wound, she was suddenly aware that one of her pant legs was missing. _How humiliating._ "Fine, I suppose. What time is it, anyway?"

"About midnight," said Brynjolf.

"Midnight? Why would you wake me up at midnight? Forget this, I'm going back to sleep..."

"Oh no you don't," said Vex.

"Yeah," said Delvin, crossing his arms. "We've got something _real_ special planned for you."

In response to Alora's confused stare, Brynjolf said, "We realized that you didn't get a proper Guild welcome. Come on, lass. Join us in the Flagon when you're ready."

After they left, Alora groaned and splashed water on her face. "They woke me up. At midnight. For a _Guild welcome._" Two days of sleep or not, she still felt tired and sluggish. The Goldenglow job had taken more out of her than she realized. Her leg, at least, didn't feel too bad.

No one was in the Cistern. She assumed everyone was awaiting her in the Flagon. Seizing the rare moment of privacy, she tore off her armor and pulled on a fresh pair of breeches and a loose blue shirt. She then slid her feet into supple leather boots and ran a comb through her hair.

"Good enough," she muttered, glancing at her reflection in the Cistern pool. Looking good had never been at the top of her priority list. Still, she liked to feel put-together.

She didn't know what to expect upon entering the Flagon, and the moment she set foot through the door, her ears were met with a chorus of cheers. Which was surprising, as none of the Guild members seemed this happy to receive her _before_ the Goldenglow job.

_I guess Bryn was right, _she thought, smiling. _All it took was one successful mission._

As the hours went by, Alora found out that Brynjolf's definition of a "proper Guild welcome" actually meant "an excuse to stay up all night drinking." Regardless, the Guild _did_ seem to be warming up to her more, and she had fun trading stories with Brynjolf, Delvin, Vex, Niruin, and the others.

"And _then_ I found out that Mercer'd sent me to the wrong estate! Turned out to be a brothel. A bloody brothel!" Delvin said loudly. "Best mission I've ever been on!"

The Flagon resounded with roars of laughter. "That's a good one, Del!" Dirge bellowed. "Oi, Swiftknife, what've you got?"

"Yeah!" said Rune. "Give us a story."

"How'd you start getting called 'Swiftknife' anyway?" Vex wanted to know. She was the only person besides Mercer that wasn't heavily drinking. Even Alora was feeling a bit tipsy.

"Oh, no," she said with a chuckle. "I'm not telling _that_ story."

"Come on!" Delvin urged. The others yelled their agreement.

"Oh, alright. You're going to laugh at this," she began, taking a swig of mead. "Let's see...it wasn't that long ago, actually...ever been to Riverwood? Well, I stopped there one night for some food and whatnot...and the inn wasn't open. Shops closed, too. Guess I shouldn'tve stumbled in at three in the morning."

"But you're a thief, why didn't you just break in somewhere?" asked Vex.

"I'm getting there. You see, I went a little nuts. Gods, I was _starving_. Hadn't had a proper meal in days. A few chickens ran by, and well...I knifed 'em. For food. Got chased out of town by the guards. They started yelling things like 'Bird-killer!' and 'Get back here, Swiftknife!' Anyway, to make a long story short, 'Swiftknife' stuck, and I'm no longer welcome in Riverwood."

"You're kidding!" Brynjolf exclaimed, then doubled over with laughter. Everyone but Mercer seemed equally as amused. "And here I was thinking that was a war-name or something, and me in the presence of a Stormcloak or Legionnaire..."

Alora laughed with them. "I told you!"

And so the night wore on. More stories were shared, and mead flowed like water. It was impossible to tell what time it was in the Flagon, but once everyone started dispersing back into the Cistern, Alora guessed it to be around six or seven in the morning.

When she finally settled back into bed, her head buzzed contentedly, and she was full of good food. For the first time in a long time, she felt truly happy. She had a bed to sleep in, money in her pocket, and she was surrounded by likable people. It was as if her life was starting to fall back together.

_I do believe, _she thought, _that I'll be sticking with the Guild for quite some time._

* * *

><p>Eventually, Alora was able to thank Niruin for healing her leg. The wound had only taken a few days to heal, and she was relieved when she could walk again without limping.<p>

The same day her stitches came out, Brynjolf went looking for her.

"There you are, lass," he said, interrupting her archery practice. "There's something I need to share with you. About Goldenglow."

"What's going on?" she asked, putting away her bow and quiver.

Brynjolf took out the parchment that had been inside Aringoth's safe. "This paper you brought us turned out to be a bill of sale. The elf sold Goldenglow, but we don't know to _who_. The only clue we have is this strange mark." He showed her the paper, pointing to a symbol of a dagger. "Maven, of course, is furious. And she wants to meet with you."

Alora's brow furrowed. "Should I be worried about this?"

"No. It's just business. I believe she has a job for you," he said. "I didn't want to bring it up until your leg was fully healed."

"I see. So it's not your average thievery, then?" she asked, a tiny smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"If Maven's the client, the job is never going to be average," Brynjolf said, and chuckled. "From what she told me, I think she wants someone put out of business."

"Put someone out of business? Why choose me?" Alora asked, genuinely confused.

Brynjolf looked at her as if the answer could not be more obvious. "You did the Goldenglow job, lass. Successfully."

Alora shrugged. "I guess I thought she'd pick someone that's been around longer."

"You'll find out that in this business, we don't judge based on time. We judge based on _talent_. You know Thrynn?" Alora nodded. "He's been here for years. Rarely goes on missions."

"Why?"

"He's not one for stealth. We only send him out when brute force is necessary. But he's _good_ at that."

"So the Guild discovers your talents, and gives you jobs that suit your strengths?" Alora asked. It was all starting to make sense.

"Exactly," said Brynjolf. "Anyway, time's a-ticking. You'd better get to the Bee and Barb. Maven's waiting."

"I'll go when I'm finished here," Alora said, picking up her bow.

Brynjolf smiled. "Whatever you say, bird-killer."


	7. The Meadery

"Bloody skeevers," Alora muttered, yanking her dagger from the rat's body. "Almost got me there, didn't you?"

When Maven Black-Briar initially assigned her the job, it had seemed all too easy. Poisoning a mead vat? No problem. Killing legions of skeevers? Now _that_ was something she had neglected to mention. By the time Mallus Maccius had informed Alora of the details, she was already in Whiterun, and it was too late to reject the job.

Frankly, the job didn't even seem fit for a thief. The deceptive part, sure. But the skeevers? Not to mention the plethora of hairy frostbite spiders lurking around every corner. Alora shuddered. She _loathed_ spiders.

Nonetheless, the creatures proved easy enough to handle. Her _real_ problem didn't appear until she neared the end of the cavern. At first, he had appeared to be nothing more than a simple alchemist. She contemplated sneaking around him, until she noticed the rat's nest three paces away from where he stood. The nest she was supposed to poison.

Maccius hadn't mentioned this man to her before. If he worked for Honningbrew Meadery, or was a laborer of some sort, surely he would have said something about him.

Alora took no chances. He was a risk that she would eliminate. Nocking an arrow, she aimed for the back of his head and released the bowstring.

The arrow deflected off an invisible ward.

_No! _she thought. _Oh gods, no..._

To her dismay, the shot did not go unnoticed. The man turned around, looking both angry and very hostile.

"Who's there?" he shouted. Blue lances of shock magic began to build on his palms, to Alora's eminent horror. "I know you're there! Come to challenge me, have you?"

Why, oh why, had Maccius not spoken of this man? This _magician_? What was she to do now? Her arrows were of no more use..._Maybe,_ she thought, _he could still be knifed._ _But that would mean close combat_...

And close combat meant getting zapped.

It was a risk she had to take. Swallowing her fear, she blurted, "I am here. Come and meet your death!" And leaped from the shadows.

The man shouted incoherently. Bolts of lighting shot from his fingers, missing her by inches. She ran in an unpredictable pattern, trying desperately to avoid getting shocked.

Bracing herself, she drew closer to the man, jumping and ducking to avoid the bolts. Once she finally got within stabbing range, however, the magic struck her.

It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. The magic shocked her to the core, causing her whole body to resolve into shakes. She lay trembling on the floor for several long moments, waiting for the pain to stop. _Begging_ the pain to stop.

"That should teach you not to challenge the mighty Hamelyn!" The man cackled, and turned around.

He _turned around_.

He thought she was finished. He thought she would _die_.

Once the writhing finally ceased, she sat up ever so slowly. He was a challenge, all right. But she was Alora.

With the last reserves of her strength, she threw her dagger toward the man's back. It lodged itself squarely between his shoulder blades. His knees buckled and, with an anguished cry, he slumped to the ground.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Alora crawled over to the man's lifeless body. Among his alchemical supplies, she spotted a bright pink Potion of Healing.

Never in her life had she been so thankful.

Unstoppering the bottle, she downed the warm liquid with renewed vigor. The potion did wonders. Not only did it stop her limbs from shaking, it helped calm her fears and strengthen her resolve.

After applying poison to the nest, the rest of her job was easy. She entered the Honningbrew Boilery and, finding the vat of Honningbrew Reserve, dumped the remaining poison inside.

_Hopefully this won't do too much harm to the Guard Captain_, she thought.

Upon re-entering the Meadery, she found that the Captain had already arrived. Sabjorn, the owner, appeared nervous. Mallus Maccius stood nearby. Oh, did she have words for _him_.

Once the poisoned mead passed through the Captain's lips, it wasn't long before a confused Sabjorn was hauled out the door in irons.

"Bye, Sabjorn," Maccius murmured.

After they left, Alora turned to him with fury in her eyes. "I should crush you into a fine powder."

"Why?" Maccius asked, affronted.

"Care to explain why you didn't tell me about that _lunatic_ in the basement?" Alora snapped, her voice rising. "Or did you _want_ me to die down there? I only got back alive because of luck!"

"I couldn't have you running out on the job," he said, crossing his arms. "Besides, you saved me from having to hire someone to kill him later."

"Well, joke's on you, because I'm not leaving here without compensation."

Maccius grimaced. "You thieves and your _money. _Fine. Will one hundred septims suffice?"

"I suppose," said Alora. "I also need the key to Sabjorn's dresser."

"Sure," said Maccius. "Is this about the 'secret partner?'"

"Yeah," said Alora. "Maven's not happy about it."

"I can imagine," said Maccius, handing over the key and the money. "Feel free to nick whatever's up there, I could care less."

And nick she did. In addition to finding another mysterious piece of parchment, Alora found two hundred septims, three rubies, and a jeweled decanter.

"I'll tell you what," said Maccius, just before she left the meadery. "Anytime you're in town, and need a fence, come see me. I'll give you a good price for any...questionable items."

Alora smiled. "Thanks, Mallus. Good luck with running Black-Briar Meadery West." And she was gone.

* * *

><p>Back at the Bannered Mare, Alora found that she couldn't sleep.<p>

She had been relaxing in bed for over an hour, willing herself to fall into slumber. It seemed that no matter what she did, she could not shake the emptiness in her heart.

Why did she feel that way? She had spent plenty of nights in Whiterun before. The bed was comfortable, the food was satisfying. The day's events had been tiring. That alone should have been enough to lull her into lethargy, but it wasn't. Was it because of the magic? No, she'd had plenty of time to get over that...

All of a sudden, the thought occurred to her.

"Oh, gods," she said aloud. "I _miss _them."

She missed Delvin's witty banter and Brynjolf's laugh. She missed Dirge's empty threats and Niruin's stories. Heck, she even missed Vex's sarcasm. And in the morning, she would be all too eager to hop on the Whiterun carriage and ride back to Riften.

As much as she liked being part of the Guild, Alora felt a twinge of annoyance at her revelation. Never before had she felt so attached to one place. Normally, she was quite restless and liked to travel. Now, all she could think about was returning home.

_Home?_

She didn't have a home. She hadn't had one for many years. She'd hardly been there a month, and now she was calling that musty old Cistern _home?_

_I must be going mad. _Shaking her head, Alora left the room and bought herself an extra-strong sleeping draught.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hi reader! I hope you liked chapter seven. Let me know what you think of the story so far! Any advice you may have about my writing, the plot, or the characters would be very appreciated! I really enjoy writing this story, but I want to know if you're enjoying it, too. :) Thanks so much. -Inkletter


	8. The Secret Partner

**A/N: **Want to see a sketch I did of Alora? Click the link on my profile!

Also, thank you to those of you that reviewed. Your comments are what made me want to continue the story. I really appreciate it.

Anyway, here's chapter eight!

* * *

><p>The Ragged Flagon was nearly empty. Vekel stood behind the bar, cleaning mugs and talking with Tonilia. Dirge, as usual, stood watch for intruders. Delvin and Vex ate dinner and chatted amongst themselves. Brynjolf sat alone, staring into his mead with a blank expression.<p>

"What d'you reckon's got him down?" Delvin asked Vex.

"Isn't it obvious?" she snapped. "He's thinking about _her_."

"Who—Swiftknife?"

"Yes, Swiftknife. He's been like that ever since Mercer sent her off to Solitude to confront that skeevy Gulum-Ei about Goldenglow." She paused and took a swig of mead. "I still can't believe I botched that job, and she didn't."

Delvin smiled mischievously. "Surely you aren't _jealous_ of our newest infiltrator?"

Vex's eyes narrowed. "No, I'm not. The only reason she finished the job is because of her damn bow, I'm sure of it."

"If you say so," Delvin said. "Maybe you could learn a thing or two from her."

Vex scowled and turned away. Her eyes drifted back to Brynjolf, who still looked somber as a statue. "You don't think...?"

"Think what?" Delvin asked, tucking back into his meal.

"You don't think he has _feelings_ for Swiftknife, do you?"

Delvin nearly choked. "What—Bryn? The man falls for pretty faces all the time. But _feelings_? Honestly, it's as if you don't know him at all."

"Look at him, Del!" Vex whisper-shouted. "Have you _ever _seen him act like this? About anyone?"

Delvin thought for a moment, tapping his fork on the side of his face. "No, I reckon I haven't."

"I think he's worried about her," Vex mused. "He's worried she'll get hurt again."

"That may be so, but perhaps it's something different entirely," Delvin said around a mouthful of bread. "We shouldn't be jumpin' to conclusions."

"But did you see the look on his face when she got back from Honningbrew? I really think it's—"

"Vex," Delvin interrupted. "Even if he does have more-than-friendly feelin's toward Swiftknife, he's not bound to tell us about it. Let it be. It'll all unfold in time."

* * *

><p>"We're here," said the carriage driver. Alora's eyes fluttered open. "All rested up?"<p>

She nodded and stretched. Her back was sore from the long ride to Riften, but at least she slept through most of it. Better than listening to the driver yap the whole time, anyway. Handing the man a coin purse, she hopped off the carriage and made her way back to the Ragged Flagon.

When she arrived, her fellow Guildmates greeted her with enthusiasm. As always, Vekel thrusted a cup of mead into her hand, demanding that she sit and tell all about her quest.

"It was definitely interesting," Alora said, taking a seat. "A lot of sneaking, a bit of swimming."

"_Swimming?_" Delvin sputtered. "Why in Tamriel were you _swimming?_"

She explained how Gulum-Ei, witless lizard that he was, hadn't given her any information the easy way. "Even after I stole a case of wine for him from the Blue bloody _Palace!_" she said angrily. "I had to follow him into the East Empire Warehouse. Killed a few workers that attacked me. No, Bryn, I didn't get hurt," she said in response to the man's questioning glance. "Can't say the same for them, though."

Everyone laughed, and she continued. "Anyway, I ended up tracking him all the way through a _grotto_. Hence the swimming. Once I confronted him, he told me everything he knew."

"Please tell me you left him alive, lass," said Brynjolf. "He's far too valuable to the Guild—"

"Relax, I left the damn lizard alive. Not only that, but he's offered to fence for us," Alora said with an air of triumph.

This news was met with a round of cheers. "I feel like the Guild is finally growing again," Delvin said. "Gettin' a foothold in Solitude...now _that's_ something worth celebratin'."

"Hang on—didn't you say Gulum-Ei told you what he knew?" Vex asked. "Did he say anything about Aringoth's secret partner?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," said Alora, draining the last of her mead. "He said Goldenglow was bought by someone called 'Karliah.'"

The room went silent. Though no one spoke, the astonishment in everyone's eyes was evident. "What? Do you know who Karliah is?" Alora asked.

Brynjolf stood. "I think you'd better come with me, lass."

* * *

><p>Outside, the sky was dark. The old moon rested comfortably in the arms of the new, signaling the beginning of a new month. Brynjolf and Alora sat on a low stone wall, talking quietly.<p>

Alora listened intently as he explained a bit of Guild history to her. He spoke of Gallus, Mercer's predecessor, and how Karliah had murdered him in cold blood.

"And you never caught her?" Alora asked in astonishment.

"No. Mercer's tried to find her on several occasions, but she covers up her tracks too well," said Brynjolf with a sigh. "She's been in hiding for twenty-five years."

"Longer than I've been alive," Alora murmured. "And Mercer's been in charge all this time?"

"Aye."

"How long have you been in the Guild?" Alora asked, curious.

Brynjolf smiled wistfully. "Long enough."

"Come on, really."

Brynjolf chuckled softly. "Oh...since I was about eighteen. Worked my way up. Now I'm twenty-six and Guild Second." He turned to face her. "What about _you,_ lass? How long have you been in the thieving business?"

Alora shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. "A long time...at least, that's how it feels."

"I know what you mean," Brynjolf agreed. Suddenly his tone changed. "Feel like stealing something?" he asked with a grin.

"Just for fun?" Brynjolf nodded. Alora smiled crookedly. "Absolutely."

"It's the perfect time of night," said Brynjolf, hopping off the stone wall. "Shop or house?"

"Let's go with the blacksmith," said Alora. "I find that they often have the most gold."

Brynjolf nodded. Together, they slunk around town, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Once they reached the smithy, Brynjolf stood watch while Alora picked the door open.

"Got it," Alora whispered as the tumblers fell into place. Making sure no guards were around, the two thieves slipped inside.

Alora had been correct; not only did the smithy contain a large sum of gold, but a batch of newly-forged daggers.

"Good thing, I could use a new one," Alora admitted, selecting a dagger made of sheer green glass. "Mine's losing its luster."

Once they had stolen as much as gold as they could carry, the thieves silently left the smithy.

"That was a good haul," said Brynjolf. "Maybe we should send you on burglary missions more often. You're—"

"Stop right there!" Alora and Brynjolf whipped their heads around in surprise. To their dismay, a Riften guard stood behind them. "Filthy thieves," he muttered, drawing his sword. "Hands in the air. You're coming with me."


	9. The Past

Alora leaned against the cold cell wall and closed her eyes. Outside a solitary barred window, she heard rain pouring, swiftly and softly. Fingers of moonlight fell through the apertures and scattered across the floor. A pronounced chill suffused the air, and the sackcloth clothing she had been forced to wear did nothing to help evade it. Her bedroll didn't look warm, either. Or comfortable, for that matter. Not that she expected it to be. This _was _a prison, after all, and the night ahead would surely be a rough one.

Her lips parted slightly, and a sigh escaped them. If only she hadn't grown so accustomed to the soft Guild beds and good food! She used to be able to go days without eating, and now she felt ravenous hunger clawing at her stomach. More likely than not, the jailer did not plan to bring her or Brynjolf food until morning. _Brynjolf._ This was all his fault, but she couldn't bring herself to be angry with him. Jail time was part of being a thief. Neither of them were being careful, in any case. The fault, she realized, was just as much hers as it was his.

A sudden break in the silence shook her from her reverie. She could hear someone outside her cell, fumbling with the lock. Maybe it was the jailer coming with food! She sat up, eager to stop the rumbling in her belly.

The gate swung open with a low _creak_. All she could see was a man's silhouette, slipping inside her cell and locking it back up.

"Bryn?" she whispered in surprise. "What—how did you—"

"Lockpick," he said, holding it up for her to see. "Managed to hide it when the guards took our stuff."

"Wish I had thought of that."

He sat down across from her. A beam of moonlight fell across his face, allowing her to see him more clearly. Regardless of the fact that he wasn't a jailer bearing food, she was glad of his company, and knew that his presence would help distract her from the cold and hunger.

"I'd say 'let's try an escape,' but there's really no point," said Brynjolf. "They'll notice in the morning, and arrest us again next time we leave the Cistern."

She nodded her agreement. For a while, they said nothing. Only the soft patter of rain could be heard. It would have been relaxing, if she weren't in a prison.

Alora broke the silence. "I've spent many nights behind bars," she said, drawing her knees close. "Never thought it was all that bad."

"Why do you say that?" Brynjolf asked.

She looked away. "Because...it meant I had a place to sleep that night." Glancing up, she noticed that Brynjolf was looking at her curiously. "What?"

He shrugged. "I just feel like, whenever I think I'm beginning to understand you, you say something that throws me off, and I'm more lost than ever. I know nothing of your past, or why you came to Riften, or why you hate magic so much. In truth, I feel like I don't know you at all."

Alora smiled slightly. "Nobody does."

"Any particular reason for that, lass?"

Her smile vanished. Who was he, to be asking these questions? "Yes."

Brynjolf sighed. "We've all done things we're not proud of. Whatever you say, I won't think any less of you."

"Why do you care?" she blurted. "It's not about something _I've_ done. It's about what other people have done to _me!_" Then, realizing what she'd just said, she covered her mouth in alarm.

"It's okay," Brynjolf said cautiously. "You can say whatever you want. Sometimes it's good to get old memories off your chest."

Alora didn't respond. Why in Tamriel did he want to know her past? And, more importantly, why did she find herself wanting to _tell_ him? She never opened up to anybody, least of all people she hadn't known very long.

"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, lass," Brynjolf said apologetically.

"No," Alora said softly, meeting his gaze. "I'll tell you."

Brynjolf's eyes widened in surprise. "Are you sure?"

Alora closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "Yes, I'm sure." She didn't know why, but something about Brynjolf _felt_ trustworthy to her. Still, her past was a subject she took great pains to avoid thinking or talking about, and she was afraid of what might happen once the words tumbled out of her. Secrets and memories she had bottled up over the years, out in plain view. It made her feel uncomfortably vulnerable.

"I don't even know where to begin, really," she said, twiddling her thumbs nervously. "It's honestly a bit hard for me to even remember..."

"When did you first become a larcenist?" Brynjolf asked, trying to help her out. "None of us are born thieves. Circumstances usually..._force_ us into it."

Alora looked at him without seeing. The memory came down on her like a headman's axe, causing her fists to clench and throat to tighten. Trying her best to retain normality, she said, "It was...seven years ago, I think...I was only sixteen." She'd barely begun, and her eyes were already burning. "I lived on a farm outside Solitude, with my parents. I'd hoped to join the city guard there, actually."

"Kind of ironic, if you think about it," said Brynjolf.

She would have laughed, but found that she couldn't. "I suppose." She paused to clear her throat. "Everything...everything came to an end shortly after my sixteenth birthday. It was late at night, all was quiet...until I heard the shouting. The bloody...chanting."

"Chanting?"

She nodded, and forced herself to continue. "It was bandits. Some of them were mages. They...ambushed our house. Set it on fire. My parents, they were killed...and me, they took prisoner. You can imagine...what they did to me." For a moment, she was silent. The memories of that horrible night, the memories she suppressed for seven years, were now at the forefront of her mind. Salty tears burst forth and laced down her cheekbones, in spite of her stubborn nature. Continuing the story was a tremendous struggle. "One night...they had all been drinking, you see...I saw my chance. While they were passed out, I escaped my binds, and stole whatever I could carry. A knife...a bow...food...some money. I would have killed them, but I couldn't bring myself to...at the time."

"At the time?" Brynjolf asked. "Have you killed them since?"

She gulped. "A few months later, I came across a group of bandits while traveling...I knew it was them. Killed them on sight." She looked away, ashamed. "I never wanted to kill anyone, Bryn, but I had to do it. For my parents. And ever since then...well...killing became easier. When I felt that my life was being threatened, I didn't hesitate. I still don't. I do what I have to in order to survive. It's like I don't have much to live for, but I don't want to die, either." She wiped her eyes. "Because of them, I've had to lie and steal my way through life...because of them, I can't stand to be around fire...or any kind of magic. So now...now you know that." She choked on the last word, and refused to say any more.

Brynjolf looked at her with an expression she couldn't quite name. Was it understanding? Sadness? Or—dare she say it—_sympathy_? Of course, he would never be able to genuinely understand what she went through, but then again, who could?

The tears kept coming, and soon she found that she was crying. Humiliated by the flow of unholy water, she buried her face in her knees. Her whole body was trembling. She hadn't cried in years. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had truly sobbed.

"Come here, lass." Brynjolf reached out and pulled her close, embracing her tightly. The warmth of his arms encased her, bringing comfort. He didn't say anything, only held her. And that was all she needed.

Even after she was all cried out, he didn't let her go. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I haven't done that in a long time."

"I believe you," he said softly. "Don't worry about it. I appreciate you telling me...and like I said before, I don't think any less of you. In fact...I think more of you. You're strong, lass. Stronger than a lot of people."

She closed her eyes. "Do you care that I'm a murderer?"

"You're not a murderer. You said it yourself: you did what you had to. Even I can understand that." He pushed her hair out of her face. "Do you feel any better, now that those old memories are out?"

A ghost of a smile touched Alora's lips. "Yes."

"Good."

They talked for several more hours about many things, but avoided bringing up the past again. Brynjolf shared stories about his successes and failures as a thief, as well as funny anecdotes about Delvin, Vex, and the others. They chatted well into the night, and eventually fell asleep.

* * *

><p>The guards didn't care or question how Brynjolf got into Alora's cell. Once the sun rose, they gathered their belongings and were free to go.<p>

"I can't believe they didn't confiscate the gold we took," Alora said happily.

"There was no way to tell if it was ours or not," said Brynjolf. "Luck was with us."

"Too bad they took away my dagger."

"Take what you can get, lass."

* * *

><p>Back at the Ragged Flagon, they were intercepted by a livid Mercer Frey. "And just <em>where<em> have you been, Brynjolf?"

Brynjolf grimaced. "Sorry, Mercer. Got caught by the guards. Spent the night in jail."

Mercer scowled. "Do you have anything to show for it?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Brynjolf handed over the gold he and Alora stole from the smithy. "I hope _that_ quells any more anger you might have."

"Not quite," said Mercer. "When you found out Karliah bought Goldenglow, you should've told me _immediately_. And you," he looked at Alora. "You're coming with _me._"


	10. The Guild Song

**A/N: **Hey everyone! Sorry this took a bit longer to update than usual. Writer's block, you know how it is.

Enjoy Chapter 10!

* * *

><p>"Where in Tamriel are you going, lass?"<p>

Alora sighed and tucked a spare shirt into her pack. "'Where the end began.'"

Though her back was turned, she could hear Brynjolf's sharp intake of breath. "You don't mean to say…"

"We're going to find Karliah." Mercer had asked her to come shortly after she returned from jail. Well, _ordered_ her was more like it. "Mercer thinks she's hiding in Snow Veil Sanctum."

"That's where she—"

"—murdered Gallus," she finished. "I've heard the story." She continued packing, searching for her whetstone and tucking away extra health potions.

"Sometimes I forget that you're not a recruit anymore," said Brynjolf, somewhat wistfully. "You're a force to be reckoned with, lass."

Alora smiled to herself. "Am I now?"

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Instinctively, she turned around, only to find herself staring into a pair of worried green eyes. "You are, and a damn good archer to boot. But Karliah...her arrow could pierce your heart before you'd even spotted her. She doesn't just _hide_ in the shadows, lass. She _becomes_ the shadows."

Alora knit her brow. "I'll find her, Bryn. And when I do, I'll kill her. I swear it."

Brynjolf sighed. "You're as stubborn as they come, aren't you?"

"Yes."

He laughed, and she laughed with him. Not that she would tell him, or anyone else for that matter, but Alora was quite apprehensive about her journey. The laughter, the conversation—it helped keep her mind at peace.

"Seriously, though. Don't let her kill you." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and her whole body went rigid.

"Oi, Bryn, you in here?" The Cistern door creaked open and Delvin walked in, followed by Vex. They stopped short when they saw Brynjolf and a very red-faced Alora.

To her annoyance, Delvin whistled. "Oh, don't let us interrupt," he said slyly. "We just heard that Swiftknife was leavin' with Mercer. If you two are busy with your good-byes, we'll come back later—"

"What do you want, Del?" asked Brynjolf irritably.

The older man laughed. "Just to see if you wanted to get a drink. Vekel's out tonight, thought we'd head over to the Bee and Barb."

Brynjolf nodded. "I'm up for it. What say you, lass?"

"Not tonight," she said. "You go on ahead."

"You sure?" asked Delvin. "Get a few drinks in you, and you'll forget all about your eminent demise."

Vex looked at him crossly. "She'll come out alive," she said. "Maybe torn up, but alive nonetheless. I'd put my money on it."

Alora raised her eyebrows, surprised at this strange new side of Vex. She and her Nord kinsman had definitely gotten to know each other over the few months she'd been in the Guild, but Vex had always seemed to resent her success with the Goldenglow job. Maybe she was finally getting over it, and accepting Alora as one of their own. And Delvin—well, he always made jokes like that. It was just his foul sense of humor, one that had made her laugh on many different occasions.

"On second thought," Alora said, sliding her pack under the bed. "A few drinks sounds great." She did enjoy their company, after all. A night out would be enough to raise her spirits—and the mead would calm her nerves.

* * *

><p>The Bee and Barb was busy, but not terribly so. Brynjolf, Alora, Delvin, and Vex had a table to themselves, drinking and talking the night away. The hum of chatter around them was pleasant; even the bard's music was nice to listen to.<p>

Delvin, per usual, was telling them a story. This time, he spoke of his adventures with the Dark Brotherhood and his rendezvous with their leader, Astrid.

"Aye, she was a beauty," he said dolefully. "Left me for a werewolf. Ah, no matter...I still have Vexy here." He chuckled and drained his mead cup.

Vex scowled. "Del, you don't know what you're talking about." But she laughed too, and soon they were all in fits of drunken mirth.

"Know any good songs, Delvin?" Alora asked once their laughter had subsided.

"'Do I know any good songs,' she says," he muttered into his drink. "Ever hear the Song of the Nightingales?"

"No."

"What—every Guild member knows that one!" Brynjolf exclaimed. "Del, sing it for her."

"Naw, not here. It's too...public."

"Since when do you care?" Vex asked.

"Good point," said Delvin. "Alright, I'll sing it. Now you're all in for it!" Slamming his cup down on the table, the Breton stood up, and spread his arms open wide.

"They wear the shadows like ebony cloaks,

Serving Nocturnal, such vigilant folks.

Pledged their oaths and swore not to fail,

Guardians and heroes, our black Nightingales.

Fly through the night with Lady Luck's wings,

Go with her blessing, your song we shall sing!

Fingers nimble, footfalls soft,

Robbing the palaces, houses, and crofts.

The best of the best, your names we shall hail,

Shadow hide you, our black Nightingales!"

When the final note escaped his lips, the entire tavern burst into cheers. Alora and Brynjolf dissolved into laughter as Delvin bowed to the whole room.

"Thank'ee!" he shouted drunkenly. "I'll take tips, but I'd rather have more mead!"

Vex pulled him back down. "Do you _want_ to make a fool out of yourself, Del?"

Brynjolf grinned. "I reckon it's a bit late for that."

"Had to teach our little infiltrator the Guild song, didn't I?" Delvin asked, pouring himself another drink.

"Who are the Nightingales, anyway?" Alora inquired.

"Myths, lass. It's a story we use to keep the young footpads in line," Brynjolf explained. "They're the supposed agents of Nocturnal, protecting her and her shrines."

"Nocturnal? The Daedric prince?"

"The very same," Delvin added. "Not so sure it's a myth, though. It was widely believed that they existed back in time."

"We've got no _proof_, though," said Vex.

"Proof or no proof, I still say they're real," Delvin insisted.

"They're about as real as the curse you keep going on about," said Brynjolf. "The Nightingales aren't real, Del, and the Guild isn't cursed. Maybe you should stop drinking."

"Bah," Delvin spat. "One day, you'll see that I was right all along."

Vex rolled her eyes. "You're touched in the head."

"I'm fine with that."


	11. The Sanctum

_Where the end began._

Alora trudged up the mountain, her leg muscles burning. It had taken her four days to arrive at Snow Veil Sanctum. Four long days of harsh winds, snowstorms, and little warmth, not to mention several encounters with the local snow bear population. Mercer had left a day before her in order to scope out the ruin. Of this, she was glad; a three-day trip with only Mercer for company seemed a rather daunting prospect.

Finally, she reached the top of the summit. Her legs were wobbly, so she sat down for a moment to rest.

"Good, you're finally here," said a cold voice. Startled, she looked up and saw Mercer walking toward her. "Come on. There's no time to waste."

"Well, then make time!" Alora snapped. "I just hiked up a mountain, I'm tired, and I'm going to sit for five minutes."

The Guildmaster looked at her with an expression of both surprise and irritation. He likely wasn't used to being told off, and her remark had caught him off guard. "Five minutes," he said at last.

While she took the time to massage her aching muscles and drink water, Mercer informed her of what he had discovered.

"I've scouted the ruins and I'm certain Karliah is still inside," he said. "I found her horse. Don't worry, I've taken care of it...she won't be using it to escape." He crossed his arms impatiently. "Hurry up, would you?"

Reluctantly, Alora stood, tucking away her water flask. She didn't like the way he talked to her, as if she were his to order about. She didn't like it one bit. Still, she had to show some level of respect. He _was_ her Guildmaster, albeit a brusque one.

"If you're done lollygagging, let's head inside. Take the lead," he said.

"You want me to lead? Why?"

"I'm sorry, I was under the impression that _I_ was in charge," Mercer scoffed. "You're leading and I'm following. Does that seem clear to you?"

Alora glowered at him. _I hope you get eaten by skeevers. _"...Understood."

"Good. Just make certain you keep your eyes open. Karliah is sharp as a blade," he said. "The last thing I need is you blundering into a trap and warning her that we're here."

_Filthy, disease-ridden skeevers._

"Anyway, I've had enough of this unnecessary chatting. We need to keep going." He pointed to a staircase spiraling downward. "There's the entrance. Let's move."

Alora readied her bow. With lumbering footsteps, she trekked through the snow and down the stairs, only to find that the entryway was sealed. Inspecting the door, she noticed that that there was no normal lock, and therefore no means of picking it open.

Mercer stepped forward. "Hang on. This one doesn't look too difficult." He motioned for Alora to move away. "Quite simple really, I don't know what the fuss is about these ancient Nordic burial mounds being so _impenetrable_. All it takes is a bit of know-how and a lot of skill...there, that should do it."

Alora watched in stunned silence as the strange locks slid open. "How did you...?"

"Never mind it," Mercer said gruffly. "I've been picking doors open all my life. Let's go."

_I'll have to question him later, _Alora thought. _If we get out of here alive._

Inside the sanctum, it was eerily quiet. Torches on sconces lined the walls. A foul odor assaulted Alora's nose, causing her eyes to water briefly.

"The stench in here...this place smells of death. Be on your guard," Mercer said quietly.

They crept through the winding halls without encountering anything, and she was starting to wonder if this was some kind of joke when she heard them.

"Draugr," Mercer whispered. Their slow, heavy footsteps were easily discernible. Alora had only fought a handful of draugr in her life, but the smell of the sanctum should have been enough to warn her of what lie ahead. Squinting, she could see three of them in the distance.

Nocking an arrow, she pulled back the bowstring. With a _twang_, the arrow flew and embedded itself in the skull of one. It fell with a groan.

The other two draugr drew their weapons, looking around frantically for the location of their attacker. Alora loosed another arrow, killing a second. Mercer went after the last, slashing at it with reputable swordsmanship.

"Slipping past these draugr must have been all too easy for her," Mercer said, pulling his sword from the enemy's body. "Child's play."

And so they surged forward. Every so often they would have to pause and kill more draugr, or sidestep a trap Karliah had set. They both gained a few nicks and bruises, but were otherwise unscathed. Mercer got the brunt of the injuries, as he was the one who went into close combat while Alora shot from afar.

Everything was relatively uneventful until they reached a wide, circular room. Draugr lined the walls, waiting to be awakened by the slightest noise. The floor, Alora noticed, was slick with multicolored oil.

"Fire traps," Mercer whispered, pointing to lamps hanging from the ceiling. "There's no way we'll be able to sneak past the draugr with all this oil on the floor...hm. I think we can use the traps to our advantage." He bent his lips into a cold smile.

She knew what he was thinking. And the prospect scared her to death.

"I'll wake the draugr," he said. "At the opportune moment...shoot the lamps down."

Alora's hands tightened around her bow. How could she refuse? There was no other way. "I...understand."

Mercer nodded. Stepping into the room, he drew his sword and loudly clanged it against his dagger, resulting in an obnoxious ringing sound. It echoed across the room and bounced off the walls.

Draugr jerked to life. Alora's heart thumped wildly, knowing that in mere seconds her worst fear was about to be realized. With trembling fingers, she nocked an arrow, aimed for the lamps, and released.

The lamps broke, and an explosion resounded through the sanctum. Orange tongues of flame licked up the oil, setting the entire room ablaze. Draugr groaned and shrieked as their bones turned to dust. Alora screamed and ducked for cover, Mercer following closely behind.

It only took minutes for the fire to burn up all the oil, but to Alora it felt like years. All the while she was bombarded with memories of bandits sending her house up in flames, of her parents being burned alive, of being taken captive—

"Come on. It's over." Mercer grabbed her by the shoulders, helping her up. "Stop cowering like a child."

_It was only an oil fire_, she told herself. _Only an oil fire_. Reaching for her water flask, she sipped carefully, trying to calm the shaking in her limbs. _I really need to learn how to face fire with courage_...

For awhile, she was slow with her movements, but gradually regained her resolve. Mercer's impatience with her was obvious, but he refrained from making any more snide comments.

"Do you think she expected us to make it this far?" Alora asked.

"Yes," said Mercer. "However, I don't think she expected me to bring someone with me...so at least we're somewhat ahead of her."

They continued moving through the sanctum, slowly and silently. More draugr had to be brought down and more traps avoided. Much to Alora's relief, they didn't encounter any more oil lamp setups.

At long last, they arrived at a great golden door. This door, like the entrance to the sanctum, had no ordinary lock. Instead, there was a large indentation in the shape of a dragon's claw.

"Ah, it's one of the infamous Nordic puzzle doors. Without the matching claw, they're normally impossible to open. And since I'm certain Karliah already did away with it, we're on our own." Mercer waved Alora back and went to work on the door. "Fortunately, these doors have a weakness if you know how to exploit it. Quite simple, really." Sure enough, the Guildmaster had the puzzle unlocked within minutes. The door slid down slowly. "Karliah's close, I'm positive...let's keep moving."

Alora's heart quickened its pace. "I'm ready. Let's kill the damn traitor." She promised Brynjolf she would kill her, and by the Nine, she would. Bow in hand, she stepped through the door.

A sudden, intense pain pierced her side. Green sparks danced in her eyes and, with an anguished cry, she slumped to the ground.

* * *

><p>"Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?"<p>

Alora slowly opened her eyes. All she could feel was pain, pain, and more pain. She tried to sit up, only to find that she couldn't move at all.

"Give me a reason to try."

She blinked several times. In the distance, she could barely make out two figures. A man and a woman. Both looked ready to pounce, and neither were willing to make the first move.

"You're a clever girl, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was _inspired_."

_Karliah!_ If only she could move, Alora would loose an arrow at her that very second. Mercer, she realized, would have to handle her on his own.

"'To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies.' It was the first lesson Gallus taught us."

"You always were a quick study," Mercer remarked.

"Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive."

_What?_

"Gallus had his wealth and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way."

_No!_ Alora thought, her eyes wide with shock. _It can't be true..._

"Did you forget the Oath we took as Nightingales?" Karliah said, her voice rising. "Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?"

_Nightingales? What...Nightingales?_

"Enough of this mindless banter!" Mercer shouted, drawing his sword. "Come, Karliah. It's time for you and Gallus to become reunited!"

Alora stared in astonishment as Karliah brought a potion to her lips, sipped, and turned invisible. "I'm no fool, Mercer," she said. "Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I can promise that next time we meet, it will be your undoing." And she was gone.

Mercer sheathed his sword with a disconcerting calmness. Helplessly, Alora watched him saunter over to where she lay, bleeding and paralyzed.

"How interesting," he remarked. "It appears Gallus's history has repeated itself."

If she could move, she would have gutted him. She would have cut his throat. And she would have felt no trace of remorse. Mercer was a traitor, a liar, and a murderer, and he deserved to die like one.

"Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place," he said with a smirk. "But you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of _you_." He unsheathed his sword with narrowed eyes. "Farewell, _Swiftknife_. I'll be sure to give Brynjolf your regards."

"Bryn..." The word left her lips in a whisper as Mercer's blade entered the soft flesh of her stomach. Her eyes closed, and she tumbled into darkness.


	12. The Truth

_I'm dead...I'm dead. And this is the afterlife._

Alora's eyes fluttered open. All she could see was white and a brilliant yellow sun. _Where have I been sent? _She wondered. _Surely not Sovngarde...what thief would be allowed in Sovngarde? _With an enormous effort, she tried to sit up, but found that she couldn't due to a searing pain in her side. _If I'm dead, why do I feel pain?...What's going on?_

"Easy, easy. Don't get up so quickly," said a husky female voice. "How are you feeling?"

The unexpected sound frightened Alora. "Who's...who's there?" she rasped.

She heard footsteps. A Dunmer woman stood above her, blocking out the sun. "I am Karliah."

"Karliah? But..." A sudden wave of awareness crashed over her. "Hold on...you shot me!"

"No, I saved your life," she said, sitting down. "My arrow was tipped with a paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out...here, let me help you up."

Alora grimaced in pain as Karliah assisted her into a sitting position. Looking down, she saw that the Dunmer had bandaged and stitched both the arrow wound and Mercer's stab wound.

"I didn't want to give you a potion while you were unconscious," said Karliah, rummaging through her pack and producing a bright pink bottle. "Here, drink this. It should help with the pain."

Alora took the potion without hesitation. Once the liquid ran down her throat, the pain in her stomach lessened considerably, and she was able to gather her thoughts.

_I'm outside the Sanctum. Karliah shot me. Mercer stabbed me. Mercer! _"Is he still here? Is that filthy traitor still here?" Alora asked, on the verge of shouting.

"No, he's not," said Karliah. "I had intended to use that arrow on him, but I never had a clear shot."

"So you shot me instead?"

Karliah's brow furrowed. "My split-second decision to get you out of the way prevented your death."

"You should have shot Mercer instead," Alora insisted.

"I promise you, the thought crossed my mind. The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect; I only had enough for a single shot...I had only hoped to capture Mercer alive."

"Alive?" Alora asked, affronted. "He deserves to _die_."

"Mercer must be brought before the Guild to answer for what he's done," said Karliah, frowning. "He needs to pay for Gallus's murder."

"So...Mercer really _is_ the true murderer of Gallus, then?"

"Yes. He is." A deep sadness seemed to settle over the elf. "Do you believe me?"

Alora nodded. "I do believe you, it's just...hard to comprehend all of this. They've been telling me it was you for so long..."

"I assumed as much," said Karliah. "But now we can prove Mercer's crimes to the Guild."

"How will we prove it now?" Alora asked. "He escaped."

Karliah smiled crookedly. "My purpose in using Snow Veil Sanctum to ambush Mercer wasn't simply for irony's sake. Before both of you arrived, I recovered a journal from Gallus's remains...I suspect the information we need is written inside."

"Well, what does it say?"

"I wish I knew," said Karliah grimly. "The journal is written in some sort of language that I've never seen before."

"Perhaps it could be translated?"

Karliah thought for a moment, and her face suddenly brightened. "Enthir...Gallus's friend at the College of Winterhold. Of course! It's the only outsider Gallus trusted with his Nightingale identity."

"There's that word again, 'Nightingale,'" Alora remarked. "Brynjolf told me they were myths...and you're saying that they existed?"

"There were three of us," Karliah began. "Myself, Gallus, and Mercer...I'll tell you more about it later. Right now, you need to get to Winterhold, find Enthir, and get the translation."

"You want me to go alone? In my condition?" Alora asked in disbelief. "Can't you come with me?"

"I'm afraid not...there are preparations to make, and Gallus's remains to lay to rest," she said. "I'll give you some extra potions, to help you along. They're stronger than the average Potion of Healing. Concoctions of my own. You'll be fine. I'll meet you at the inn as soon as I'm able."

* * *

><p>The Ragged Flagon was silent. Nobody, not even old Delvin, had anything to say.<p>

When Mercer and Alora left for Snow Veil Sanctum, activity in the Thieves Guild reached a standstill. Sure, there was work to be done, but how could anyone focus on meager burglary jobs when the Guildmaster and the newest infiltrator were on a mission to find their number one enemy? For days, nobody had done anything but anxiously await their return.

Suddenly, the door to the Flagon burst open. Everyone jumped in surprise as Mercer stalked toward them, looking both angry and grave.

"Mercer!" Brynjolf exclaimed. "What happened? Did you catch Karliah?"

The Guildmaster didn't even look at them. With a flourish, he took a bottle of mead from the bar and sat down heavily.

"Everything...alright?" Delvin asked cautiously.

His only reply was to unstopper the bottle and take a long draught.

"Damn it, Mercer! What happened?" Brynjolf repeated. "Where's...where's the lass?"

The Breton peered at him with guarded eyes. "She's dead."

The Flagon fell silent once more. Then, slowly, the expressions on everyone's faces began to change. Some were shocked, others outraged. Even Vex showed signs of bewilderment.

"She can't be dead!" Delvin shouted angrily. "Swiftknife's the finest archer I've ever seen. Better than Karliah!"

"Obviously she wasn't, or we wouldn't be having this conversation," Mercer replied.

"How...how exactly did she die, Mercer?" Brynjolf asked, his voice shaking.

The Guildmaster sipped his mead. "Karliah shot her in the throat. Just like she did Gallus. There was nothing I could do, Brynjolf."

"First Gallus, now Swiftknife? Tell us you at least killed the elf," Vex muttered. "She's caused the Guild too much loss."

Mercer shook his head. "I confronted her, but she got away. Slipped right through my fingers," he said angrily. "After all these years..."

It was Dirge who spoke next. "So...what are we going to do?"

"_I'm_ leaving on a Guild affair," Mercer growled. "And all of _you_ will continue with your assigned jobs."

"What—so that's it then?" Delvin asked incredulously. "We've lost a member of our family, and you expect us to just go back to the way things were?"

Mercer stood. "This isn't a _family_, Delvin. This is a _business_. Now get back to work, all of you." And he left them.

"He's wrong," Delvin said once Mercer was out of earshot. "We _are_ a family, whether or not our Guildmaster says so—Bryn, are you alright?"

Brynjolf closed his eyes, fingering the bridge of his nose. "I just...can't believe she's dead. This...this is all my fault."

Delvin placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "No it isn't. Don't take the blame for something you couldn't help."

"But I could help it!" the Nord shouted, pushing Delvin's hand away. "If I hadn't asked her to join the Guild, none of this would have happened! She would still be alive!"

"Yeah, but the Guild would still be in a deep rut. She did a lot for us," said Vex.

Brynjolf looked at her, fury burning in his eyes. "So it was worth her death, then? Just to have a bit of gold? No, Vex. I don't think so." Rising from his seat, he disappeared into the Ratway, slamming the door behind him.

"I've never known Bryn to lose his head like that," Delvin muttered.

"What did you expect?" Vex snapped. "It was pretty obvious how he felt about her."

"I never believed it until now," said Delvin. "I guess the man was smitten after all."

Niruin joined the conversation. "Did any of you notice that Mercer was acting a bit...strange?" he asked, taking a seat beside Vex.

Delvin appeared thoughtful. "Now that you mention it...yeah."

"It was something about the way he spoke," said Niruin. "It sounded..._rehearsed_."

"Yeah, and what's this 'Guild affair' he's talking about?" asked Vex. "Do you think he's keeping something from us?"

"It's possible," remarked Delvin. "Its very possible."


	13. The Journal

"Back, eh? And how's our friend Calcelmo?"

Alora sighed tiredly. "I really don't want to talk about it."

It had been a week since Enthir had sent her on a journey to the other side of Skyrim to collect an accurate translation of the Falmer language. A journey that involved breaking into a lunatic scholar's Dwemer museum, fighting off robotic spiders, and hightailing it out of Markarth with the city watch at her heels. No, talking about her trip was the last thing she wanted to do. What she _did _want was for Enthir to translate Gallus's journal so that she and Karliah could race back to Riften at lightning speed.

Enthir shrugged and took the charcoal rubbing Alora handed to him. "I suppose it would be inappropriate to ask how you obtained this, so I simply won't."

"That's right. You won't. Now please, let's get on with it."

"Alright, alright. Over here, please." The Bosmer placed the rubbing and the journal next to each other on a table. Alora and Karliah stood on either side of him, watching the elf's progress as he thumbed through Gallus's private notes.

Without looking up, Enthir said, "It appears as though Gallus had suspicions about Mercer Frey's allegiance to the Guild for months." He went on to explain Gallus's observations on Mercer's lust for wealth and indulgences on personal pleasures.

Karliah wrung her hands nervously. "Does the journal say where this wealth came from?"

"Yes..." Enthir's finger trailed down the page. "Gallus seemed certain that Mercer had been removing funds from the Guild's treasury without anyone's knowledge."

"All this time? He's been stealing from the Guild all this time?" A sick feeling crept over Alora as the information sunk in. _How could he?_

Karliah didn't look surprised. "I had suspected as much...anything else, Enthir? Anything about...the Nightingales?"

"Hm..." His eyes glanced over the last few pages. "Yes, here it is. Gallus touched on what he describes as the 'failure of the Nightingales,' although it doesn't go into great detail. He also mentioned his strong belief that Mercer desecrated something known as the Twilight Sepulcher."

"Shadows preserve us," Karliah whispered. "So it's true..."

"What's true?" Alora frowned, the lines in her forehead deepening. "What's this 'Twilight Sepulcher?'"

"Yes, what's Mercer Frey done?" Enthir inquired.

"I'm sorry...I can't say." Karliah's mouth was set in a grim line. "All that matters is that we deliver your translation to the Guild _immediately_. Alora, we have to move." She reached out and shook the Bosmer's hand. "Farewell, Enthir...words can't express..."

"It's alright, Karliah. You don't have to say a word. All I want is the truth to be revealed. And as for you," he turned to Alora. "Thank you for traveling all the way to Markarth just to get this rubbing. If you're ever in Winterhold, and need a fence...come and see me."

"Thank you, Enthir," Alora said earnestly.

Karliah drew up her hood. "Come on. We must hasten to Riften before Mercer can do any more damage to the Guild."

* * *

><p>Alora didn't want to do it, but Karliah had insisted.<p>

"Riding to Riften will be much faster," she said. "I know stealing horses is risky, even for thieves like us...but stopping Mercer is more important than a bounty on our heads, wouldn't you agree?"

And so, in the dead of night, they saddled up two stallions and rode out of Winterhold Stables at full gallop. Only a sleepy watchman had seen their escape, and by the time the alarm had been raised, Alora and Karliah were but shadows in the distance.

They pressed on through the night and most of the next day; out of Winterhold, into Eastmarch. Alora was loath to even think about stopping. She was all too eager to get back to the Guild, back to the friends she missed, and back to the madman that threatened to destroy any semblance of stability she had gained over her life.

The sun began to slip below the horizon. They were nearing Kynesgrove, a small town about halfway between Winterhold and Riften.

"I think we'd better stop for the night," said Karliah with a yawn. "If anything, the horses need a rest."

Alora nodded in agreement. Without speaking, the two thieves picketed their horses outside the inn and entered the small building. Food, drink, and rest; that was all she needed. The innkeeper, Iddra, seemed all too grateful for their presence.

"I hope you'll be staying awhile," the older woman said. "We could really use the business."

Karliah explained that they would only be there until dawn the next day, paid for the rooms, and ordered dinner. The disappointment on Iddra's face was evident as she bustled into the kitchen. Alora didn't argue with Karliah's decision to pay for the food rather than steal it; the Braidwood Inn looked as if it needed their coin.

The thieves exchanged conversation over a dinner of hot stew, bread, and vegetables. Alora discovered that she and Karliah had a lot in common, and found herself telling the Dunmer all about her life before Brynjolf had inducted her into the Guild. Karliah, too, shared bits and pieces of the years she had spent with the Guild as well as her many years in hiding.

"It's been so long since I've talked to someone like this," said Karliah, sipping her mead. "It feels nice to not be on the run for once."

Their conversation was cut off by a singing bard in the back of the room.

"Our hero, our hero claims a warrior's heart.

I tell you, I tell you the Dragonborn comes..."

"Do you believe in all that 'Dragonborn' business?" Alora asked, tuning out the song.

"My ears have picked up a few stories," Karliah admitted. "I heard that a dragon attacked Whiterun, and one of the warriors absorbed its soul...whether or not it's true, though, I can't be sure."

Their discussion continued, branching off into other topics, such as archery. Out of curiosity, Alora asked the elf about her bow.

"It's my Nightingale bow," she said, unstrapping it from her back. "I've had it for over two decades, and it's never failed me once."

Alora admired the bow's delicate curvature, and the way the silver engravings stood out against the wood's black stain. "I've never seen its equal."

Karliah draped the weapon over her back once more. "And you have a glass bow, I see. Very beautiful. Was that the bow you took from the bandits' camp?"

She shook her head. "That was a simple hunting bow. I got this one by...other means."

"You stole it."

Alora smiled crookedly. "That's what thieves do best, isn't it?"

The Dunmer laughed, a light, throaty sound. "Indeed it is."

For the next half hour they exchanged tips and secrets on getting an accurate shot, shooting multiple arrows at once, and other useful skills. Karliah shared a few recipes for poisons to slather onto the arrow's tip; paralytic poisons, stamina poisons, even frenzy poisons. She told Alora what ingredients were necessary, and what poison worked most effectively in specific situations.

Alora was fascinated. "Who taught you all of this?"

Karliah's entire persona changed in that instant. Her eyes were downcast, her hands clenched. Alora immediately regretted asking and was about to apologize when the Dunmer spoke.

"Gallus was...very intelligent," she said softly. "He taught me a lot about alchemy, archery, and what it means to be a Nightingale. I owe everything to him." She cleared her throat. "We were...very close."

"You were lovers?" Alora asked, though the answer was plain on the elf's face.

"Gallus once said he felt comfortable around me; able to let his guard down. I can't help but think that I'm responsible for what happened to him..." She sighed, glancing out a nearby window. "What of you, Alora? Is there anyone you're...fond of?"

"No," she replied, shifting uncomfortably. "There's nobody left I love."

Karliah raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes," Alora said firmly. "Shouldn't we be off to bed? Early start and all that?"

The elf smiled ever so slightly. "Whatever you say."

Alora scowled and left her chuckling companion. Once inside her room, she slipped under the covers and buried her face in the pillow. She wasn't angry; no, just the opposite. She was _disturbed_. Yet what disturbed her hadn't been Karliah's question.

It was because, for a split second, Brynjolf's name had entered her mind.


	14. The Return

**A/N: **Hey everyone! Just wanted to say thank you for all the encouragement that's been coming my way. You guys are awesome.

I hope you enjoy Chapter 14!

* * *

><p>The Cistern was relatively quiet. Niruin practiced archery on one of the many available targets. Cynric sat nearby, chatting with the elf. Dirge, Tonilia, and Vekel were eating dinner in the Flagon. Everyone else was either somewhere in Riften our out on a job.<p>

Everyone, that is, except for Brynjolf.

The tall Nord stood hunched over the Guild business ledger, scrawling notes and fiddling with numbers. Normally figuring was Mercer's job, but he had left on his mysterious Guild errand early that morning. Brynjolf had been too troubled with his thoughts to ask Mercer any questions; whatever the errand was, it must have been important. The Guildmaster never left on solo missions unless the need was great.

With a sigh, he closed the ledger. If only there was more to be done! Work gave his mind something else to ponder besides Alora and her untimely death. Regardless of what Delvin said, he still felt partially—if not entirely—responsible for her demise. And no matter how much work he did, or how many pints of ale he drank, he could not shake the guilt. Nor could he shake the deep-seated ache in his heart.

His eyes scanned the Cistern and paused on Delvin, who was sitting across the room, dragging a whetstone over his dagger. He and Vex, who usually stayed in the Flagon, had taken it upon themselves to keep watch over Brynjolf until he, to quote Delvin, "returned to his normal bloody self again." He didn't know how long it would take for the pain of Alora's absence to relinquish its hold over him. What he _did _know was that he couldn't let it stay for long. As Guild Second, his first priority would always have to be his fellow Guildmates...his family. All the same, her death had cut him deeply, and he would need time let the would heal.

But gods, did he miss the lass.

He missed the way her face brightened when she talked about archery, and the way she bit her lip when prying open a lock. He missed the lone braid winding through her hair. He missed her stubborn determination and curiosity. And her voice! He missed the way she sang to herself when she thought no one was around. He missed hearing her laugh ring throughout the Flagon when Delvin told one of his bawdy jokes, and the witty comebacks she used against Vex's sarcastic commentary. He missed walking into the Cistern late at night and finding her sprawled out on her bed, lost in slumber. He even missed how easily she grew impatient.

He missed everything about her.

She was unlike any recruit—any _woman_—he had ever known. She wasn't fickle like Vex, or self-assertive like Tonilia. She was driven by her own inner fire, a tenacity that few enough possessed. Even though she had only been with the Guild for a few months, her loyalty and dedication was obvious to everyone. She was exactly the kind of person the Guild needed in such a dark, troubling time.

And now she was gone.

A low groan escaped his throat. Sitting back down at Mercer's desk, he dropped his head into his hands. _Why_ did this have to happen? Maybe the Guild was cursed after all, and Delvin wasn't as daft as everyone thought.

A voice startled him. "Bryn?"

He picked his head up. "What, Del?"

The older man crossed his arms. "I'm meeting Vex at the Bee and Barb. And you're coming with me."

"Why?"

"Because you need to get out of here for a bit, and I'm hungry. Come on."

Brynjolf sighed. That was Delvin, always frank. "Can't we just eat in the Flagon?"

Delvin planted his hands on the desk, leaning closer to his face. "Did you not hear me? You need to get out of here. This place is swallowing you up. You need fresh air, some mead, and different company."

The tiniest of smiles pulled at Brynjolf's mouth. "Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself, Del."

"I don't know about that, boss. But I _do _know that a bit o' mead is the best cure for an achin' heart."

"Can't argue with that."

"That's the spirit. Let's go, you know how Vex gets when she's kept waiting."

* * *

><p>"Are you ready for this?"<p>

Karliah nodded sharply. "I won't hide from the Guild any longer. Stopping Mercer is all that matters now."

"I couldn't agree more."

Together, the two thieves descended into the Cistern by means of a secret entrance in the Riften cemetery. Alora's heart pounded against her ribcage. She was nervous not because of Mercer, but because he might have poisoned the minds of her fellow Guildmates with lies about her. He could have told them _anything_; that she was a traitor, she was a liar, even that she a was murderer. For all she knew, there was an ambush waiting for her. Not to mention that everyone still believed Karliah to be the true murderer of Gallus. Once they realized who the Dunmer woman was, there would be blood. They had to avoid blood at all costs.

_Unless it's Mercer's, _she thought bitterly.

Her hands trembled as she and Karliah stepped down the ladder. Listening intently, all she could hear was the hum of muffled conversation. _No ambush,_ she thought with some relief._ But we still have to make a quiet entrance, in case Mercer's here_.

Alora slipped into the Cistern first, dagger unsheathed. Even if there didn't appear to be an ambush, she wasn't one to take chances. She could hear Karliah sneaking behind her, lithe as a cat. Together they kept to the shadows.

Their plan was simple; if they spotted Mercer, Karliah would shoot him with an arrow coated in a paralytic poison. It was far weaker than the one she had used on Alora, but it would have to suffice. If he wasn't at the Cistern or Flagon, they would find Brynjolf at once.

"I don't see him," Alora breathed. "Do you?"

"No."

"Shall we go to Brynjolf?"

"I don't see him either. Or Delvin, for that matter."

Alora paused, thinking. If neither Mercer, Brynjolf, or Delvin were in the Cistern, they were either at the Flagon or elsewhere in Riften. But if she and Karliah went into the Flagon, they ran the risk of bumping into all of them at once, which could pose as an issue.

Sweeping her eyes over the room, she spotted Cynric, Sapphire, Rune, and Niruin, who was practicing archery in a corner. _Maybe he knows where Mercer is,_ she thought. Out of everyone in the Cistern, she only trusted Niruin to keep quiet.

"Stay here," Alora murmured to her companion. The elf nodded.

Slowly, she made her way over to the Bosmer. She couldn't have him alerting others to her presence, so she sneaked behind him and placed her hand over his mouth. He stiffened in surprise.

"Niruin," she whispered into his ear. "It's Alora. Don't shout. Keep low. "

The elf broke free of her grip and turned around with wide eyes. "You're...you're not dead," he stuttered. "Mercer told us you were dead! He said Karliah shot you...what in Tamriel is going on?"

Alora's hand tightened around her knife. "I promise, I'll tell you everything later. But right now, I need to know where Mercer is."

"I don't know," Niruin admitted. "He told us he was going on an important Guild errand."

"When did he leave?"

"This morning."

Alora cursed. "Do you know where Brynjolf is, then?"

"Out. I think he's at the Bee and Barb."

"I need to get to him _immediately_." She placed a hand on the elf's shoulder. "Niruin, please don't tell anyone I was here."

"I won't." He was confused, she knew, but he would hear the truth soon enough.

Nodding to the elf, she motioned for Karliah to follow her, and they left the Cistern in all haste.


	15. The Reunion

Alora stood before the Bee and Barb. Inside sat Brynjolf, Delvin, and Vex, three people that desperately needed to hear the truth about Mercer. Three people that believed Alora to be dead and Karliah to be her murderer.

Though they had originally planned on spilling the truth together, Karliah insisted upon waiting outside the tavern until everything had been explained.

"I'm afraid they'll want to kill me on sight," she had said. "Tell them the information. Let them hear it from someone they trust. _Then_ come get me."

Alora hadn't liked the idea, but she had to admit, it was logical. Even if they were peaceful toward Karliah—an unlikely prospect in itself—they would never believe the truth about Mercer's treachery if it came from her.

_It's now or never_, Alora thought. Steeling herself, she pushed open the door.

At first, she kept to the shadows, trying to spot her friends before they spotted her. Her eyes passed over a sellsword, Mjoll the Lioness, and a priest of Mara before pausing on the very back corner. There they were: Brynjolf, looking morose; Delvin, downing a tankard of mead; and Vex, whose back was turned.

Alora's heartbeat quickened. She couldn't remember ever feeling this nervous. With slow, deliberate footsteps, she made her way over to where her friends sat.

It was Delvin who first caught sight of her. Once their eyes locked, his tankard slipped from his fingers, and he began to choke. His coughing drew the attention of everyone in the tavern.

"I told you not to drink so fast!" Brynjolf scolded, pounding Delvin on the back. "And now you've got mead everywhere—"

"Swiftknife!" Delvin sputtered, trying to point. "It's Swiftknife!"

"Now you're just going mad," Brynjolf grumbled. "Vex, help me clean up this mess."

Delvin's coughing finally subsided. "I'm not going mad!" he shouted. "Just look!"

Alora stood in silence as Brynjolf and Vex turned to see if she was, in fact, there. She pulled her hood down, allowing the torchlight to fall across her face.

Brynjolf's somber expression changed to one of shock and disbelief. Even Vex, who always appeared passive, looked baffled.

"By the Eight," Brynjolf whispered. "Is...is that really you, lass?"

Alora nodded, her eyes meeting his. Behind those deep green irises, she could see something that could only be identified as hope; longing, even. For several moments nobody spoke. They simply stared at her, unblinking, mouths agape.

Delvin broke the silence. "Gods, Swiftknife, don't just stand there. Sit down!"

She obeyed, taking the empty seat beside Vex. "I'm sure you have many questions," she said, unsure of how to begin. Her hands were trembling, so she laced them together.

"You're damn right we have questions," Vex snapped. "For a week we thought you were dead! Is this your crude idea of a joke?"

"Please, just let me explain," said Alora. She would have to choose her words carefully; she was about to tread on very dangerous ground. "What I'm about to say may...come as a shock to you."

"It can't be any more of a shock than finding out you're alive, lass," said Brynjolf. He still looked at her as if she were a hallucination, or a dream.

"Believe me, it's far more surprising than that."

"Well, go on. Spit it out," said Delvin.

Taking a deep breath, she decided to begin her tale with Snow Veil Sanctum.

She told them that Mercer had forced her to take the lead. She filled them in on his ability to open seemingly impenetrable doors without the proper keys. And, with great effort, she told them how Karliah had indeed shot her.

"Right in the gut," Alora said, cringing at the memory. "More painful than any arrow wound I've ever received, because it was poisoned."

She went on to explain the conversation that ensued between Mercer and Karliah. At this point, her friends' expressions began to change from confused to angry. Luckily, they allowed her to continue without interruption.

After revealing that Mercer had stabbed her, she told them of how she had woken up outside the Sanctum in Karliah's care. She described that the arrow's paralytic poison had kept her from bleeding out, and in turn saved her life.

The last half of her story entailed her journeys to Winterhold and Markarth in order to obtain the translation of Gallus's journal from Enthir.

"That's why it took so long for me to get here," she explained. "Even by carriage, it took days to get to Markarth and back." She paused for a moment, noting her friends' angry, puzzled stares. "I realize I've made a lot of heavy accusations...but I have proof. Proof that every word I've said is true, and that you've all been misled about both Mercer _and_ Karliah."

"You'd better have proof," Delvin grumbled. "We could kick you out of the Guild for sayin' things like that!"

"Let her finish, Del," Brynjolf said, though he, too, sounded unsure. "What's your proof, lass?"

_Thank Talos for Brynjolf's open mind_, Alora thought, drawing Gallus's journal out of her pack. "The journal of GallusDesidenius. And," she pulled out a folded-up piece of parchment, "Enthir's translation."

She watched in silence as Brynjolf flipped through the pages of the translation, his expression growing from angry to astonished.

At last, he closed the journal. Delvin and Vex looked at him expectantly, eager to discover if what Alora said was really true.

"Well?" asked Vex.

Brynjolf sighed and shook his head. "It just doesn't seem possible...I've known Mercer too long."

Delvin paled. "You don't mean to say—"

"It's true," said Brynjolf. "Every word. According to this journal, Gallus was extremely close to exposing Mercer to the Guild..."

"So Karliah was innocent all this time?" Vex wanted to know. "Is she with you, Swiftknife?"

Alora nodded. "She's waiting outside right now. Didn't want to come in until I'd explained everything."

"Go ahead and get her," said Brynjolf.

Outside the tavern, Alora informed Karliah that she had successfully related the information. The elf was pleased to hear that it had gone relatively well, and that Brynjolf had requested that she be brought before them.

Once Karliah was seated at the table (and awkward introductions had been made), she confirmed that yes, Mercer was the true murderer of Gallus, and he had been stealing from the Guild for years. The only piece of information she left out was their allegiance to the Nightingales.

"There's only one way to confirm all of this," Brynjolf said with a tone of finality. "Delvin, Vex, come with me. We're going to check the Guild vault." He turned to Alora. "It's not that I don't believe you, lass. The journal is proof enough...I just need to see it with my own eyes."

"And after you check the vault? What will our next course of action be?" Alora asked.

"Meet me at the cemetery in about half an hour. We'll sort it out then."

* * *

><p>Alora stood alone in the dark graveyard, peering up at the starlit sky. Karliah, instead of waiting with her, chose to rent a room at the Bee and Barb until everything had simmered down and Brynjolf decided what to do about Mercer.<p>

_Surely it's been half an hour by now_, Alora thought with a yawn.

A grating sound disturbed the silence. Brynjolf's head popped above ground; he had taken the secret Guild passageway into the cemetery.

"It's terrible, lass," he said, rushing over to where she stood. "Everything's gone—the gold, the jewels, the plans...everything." He was panicking. Brynjolf _never_ panicked. That alone was cause to worry.

"Bryn, where _exactly_ did Mercer say he was going?"

"He never said where, only that he was leaving."

She swore in frustration. "Any clue what to do next? He could be halfway across Skyrim by now."

"Aye. There is one thing we can do...well, _you_ can do."

"What is it? Whatever the task, I'll do it."

Brynjolf's tone changed; it was as if he had to force the words out. "Mercer has a house—Riftweald Manor—here, in Riften...a gift from the Black-Briars. I need you to infiltrate it, and see if you can find anything. Any notion of where he might be." He shut his eyes as if in pain. "It's the last place I'd _ever_ want to send you."

"I can do it, Bryn."

"That's what you said before Snow Veil Sanctum. And you didn't come back."

There was a long period of silence. Alora looked away, recognizing the truth in his words.

He took her by the shoulders. "I thought you were dead, Alora."

The sound of her name startled her. She couldn't remember him ever using her name. Why this felt so significant, she had no idea.

He repeated the phrase in a whisper. "I thought you were dead."

"I wouldn't die on you, Bryn," she whispered back. "Don't you know me better than that?"

Suddenly he was very near. Never before had she noticed the gold flecks in his green eyes, or the dusting of freckles across his nose. Her heart thumped nervously as he touched her face with one hand, running his thumb along a thin white scar that started on her right cheekbone, stretched over her lip, and curved under her chin. "Where did you get this, lass?" he murmured. "I've never seen it before."

"I got it when the bandits took me...one of them cut..." Her words trailed off as the space between their faces grew smaller. He was close, too close—

Her blood ran cold, and she turned her head away.

"Shouldn't we...shouldn't we get back to the Cistern?" Her voice was quivering. "You know...tell everyone about Mercer?"

"Aye...we should." His words were barely audible.

Alora felt her whole body shaking as they descended into the secret entrance. _What _had just happened? _No time to ponder it now_, she thought. _Stopping Mercer is all that matters_. And though she truly believed that, the treacherous Guildmaster was not the only man on her mind that night.


	16. The Manor

A gray haze hung over Riften. Rain fell in slow, rhythmic torrents, drenching anybody that dared step outside for even a minute. Because of this, the city's inhabitants were either hiding in their homes or seeking refuge at the Bee and Barb. Only guards walked the watery streets. Even the marketplace was empty; the merchants seemed to know that they were not likely to get any business on a day like this, and had not even bothered to open their stalls. It was, in a way, the perfect day for a thievery to take place.

Alora planned to take full advantage of that.

She leaned against a hewn stone wall in the cemetery, face obscured by a sheet of long black hair. Raindrops dripped off her canvas hood and fell onto her cheeks, rolling off the bridge of her nose and coiling over her lips. The leather greaves and cuirass given to her by the Guild were dry, however; no matter how long she stood out in the rain, they would not become waterlogged. It was days like this that made her appreciate the armor's heavy enchantments.

Though her vision was somewhat hindered by the weather, she did her best to scope out Mercer's exorbitant manor. According to Brynjolf, the Guildmaster rarely visited the house; he simply paid for the upkeep on it. In addition, he also hired a guard and installed contraptions that prevented anyone without a house key from entering.

Vex had known the guard years ago. She said that he was a greedy man, only interested in gold, and that paying him off would probably land her a key.

"Or you could just run him through," she said. "Makes no difference to me."

Alora had no interest in wasting gold on the man, and Brynjolf had given her special permission to kill anyone that stood in her way. A simple bowshot would take care of him. A second shot would loosen the contraptions and lower a ladder, allowing her access to the upper floors. The ground-level doors were barred on either side and could not be accessed even with a house key.

When she thought she had learned all that was necessary, her feet moved toward the back gate. She waited until the guard turned his back, then went to work on the lock. It was tougher than the locks she was used to opening. Expecting this, she had brought an extra set of lockpicks from the Cistern. Her fingers worked furiously to open the lock before the guard—or even the city watch—spotted her. Fortunately, the iron gate swung open after only nine broken picks. The rain even droned out the gate's low creaking noise.

Fitting an arrow to her bowstring, Alora aimed for the guard's back. She had used some of the knowledge Karliah had imparted to her about alchemy and slathered the tip with a weak health poison. With a _twang_, she released the string, and the man crumpled to the ground.

Alora crept into the yard, closing the gate behind her. It wouldn't do for one of the city watch to catch her now. She could not afford the bounty that would surely be on her head, and there was no time to waste sitting in jail. This was, undoubtedly, her most delicate mission yet.

It took two more shots before she managed to slice the thin rope holding the ladder in place. Strange Dwemer mechanisms turned and groaned, and the ladder fell with a resounding _thump_. Before ascending the stairs, she went over to where the dead guard lay and fished Mercer's house key out of his pocket. With any luck, the key would prevent her from needing to waste any more lockpicks.

Once inside the manor, Alora still kept to the shadows. Just because she had killed the only known person guarding Riftweald did not mean that there weren't others. Mercer struck her as the type of man who would have prepared for something like this.

Truly, she wasn't even sure what to search for. Brynjolf had said to look for "any indication of where he might be," but that could have meant anything. More than likely, it would be a piece of paper or a map. Then again, there could be _no_ evidence in the manor. Regardless, she would not stop searching until every room had been thoroughly investigated.

She slipped in and out of rooms, searching drawers, tables, cabinets, even in between book pages. With each passing hour, her heart grew heavier. There was absolutely _nothing_ to be found. She was about to give up her pursuit when something caught her eye.

It was a large cabinet—but it did not look like an ordinary cabinet. The back of it looked as if it was sealed to the wall. Curious, Alora opened the door, only to find it empty.

_Strange_, she thought, placing her hands on the back panel. She knocked on the wood three times and found it hollow. With a crooked smile, she lifted her boot and kicked the false panel with all her might. Sure enough, it gave way, revealing a secret passageway that lead underground._ Clever bastard._

Bright torchlight splashed the walls of the passage, making it nigh impossible to keep to the shadows. This posed as an issue. If there were more people guarding Riftweald, they would definitely be down here, and if she couldn't stay hidden...

Pushing away the disturbing thoughts, Alora continued searching the passage for any clues Mercer may have left behind. Every time she sidestepped a trap or jumped over a pressure plate, she grew that much more confident that the Guildmaster was trying to hide something very important. At last, she spotted a well-lit room at the very end of the hallway. She knew this room was her final hope. If there was nothing inside, she would be forced to return to Brynjolf empty-handed and empty-hearted.

Before entering the room, she paused outside the door and listened for guards. After encountering none whatsoever in the hallway, she was wary of any surprises that might be awaiting her. Unfortunately, her suspicions were proven correct. She could hear two men talking softly, sounding bored but ready for action.

Alora quietly put away her bow and drew both of her daggers. She sensed melee combat, and in close quarters her bow would only prove useful against one opponent. At least with daggers, she stood a chance.

Peering inside the room, she saw two big, hulking bandits sitting at a small table. Luckily, they were not directly facing her, and the smaller of the two even had his back turned. Seeing her opportunity, Alora flicked her wrist and sent one of the knives flying. It embedded itself into the smaller bandit's neck. While the larger bandit reeled in shock, Alora aimed her second knife for his chest. As the knife hurdled toward him, the man jumped back, and her blade bounced off the wall.

Her heart thudded. The man was advancing on her with a formidable-looking mace, and she had thrown away her last melee weapon.

She made an attempt to dart underneath his upraised arm to seize one of the knives. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of one when the man yelled in fury and swung his mace. The heavy weapon connected solidly with her side, and she felt the sickening crack of bone. A scream escaped her throat.

Clutching the knife tightly, she doubled over in pain. The man smiled wickedly and raised his mace. Before he could deliver a blow that would kill her, she seized what little strength she could and hurled her dagger.

The blade pierced his throat, and he fell to the ground.

Breathing in deep, ragged gasps, Alora felt tears sliding down her cheeks. Every movement she made caused her pain. The bandit had fractured—maybe even broken—at least two ribs. The blow had knocked the wind out of her; for several long moments, she laid on the floor and tried to regain her breath. Her armor, at least, had provided some protection. Had she not been wearing it, the mace very well could have killed her.

Fumbling with the pack at her waist, she pulled out a Potion of Healing. Unstoppering the bottle, she brought the potion to her lips and drank deeply. The concoction would not fully heal her, but it would help her carry out the rest of the mission. _Nobody can know about this_, she thought as the magical liquid began to take effect. _They'll insist I rest while Mercer's on the run. We can't afford to waste anymore time...I'll get Niruin to heal me in secret._ She sighed in relief as the pain in her side lessened. It still hurt to move, but she was at last able to stand.

With sluggish footsteps, Alora sheathed both of her knives and began searching the room. There it was: a map of Skyrim, annotated in Mercer's handwriting. It was left out on the desk, plain as day. Had she been in less pain, she might have stopped to think about why that was so. Instead, she simply folded the map, put it away, and began the arduous trek back to the Guild.

* * *

><p>"I found it," Alora wheezed. "I found where Mercer is."<p>

It had taken her nearly an hour to get back to the Cistern. Her injury restricted her breathing, and in turn prevented her from moving quickly. Even with the potion in her system, the pain was difficult to hide.

"Thank goodness, lass, we were starting to worry about you," said Brynjolf, relief clear on his face. "What did you find?"

Wordlessly Alora handed over the map. As Brynjolf read over the paper, his eyes widened, then narrowed in obvious displeasure.

"Irkngthand," he whispered. Then again, louder. "Irkngthand!"

Delvin and Vex, who stood nearby, looked both shocked and angry.

"What's Irkngthand?" Alora asked.

"A Dwemer ruin," Brynjolf replied. "He's going after two gems known as the Eyes of the Falmer. If he gets his hands on them—"

"Why, he'd be set up for life," Delvin finished. "Takin' one of the last great heists...that's just insulting. Is that where you're headin', then?"

Brynjolf nodded. "As soon as we can."

"I'd hurry up on that, boss. He's already got a head start."

"I wouldn't worry about that," said Alora. All three turned to look at her. "He left that map out in the open...something tells me he _wants_ us to follow him."

"Aye..." Brynjolf rubbed his chin. "You're probably right...in any case, you need rest, lass, and I've got some preparations to make. Oh, and Karliah stopped by earlier. She needs to speak with you and I about something."

Alora was hardly listening. All at once, she felt the potion's effects waning, and a sudden barrage of coughs tore from her chest. The severity of her hacking was torment; with every cough, the pain in her side flared up with a burning intensity.

Brynjolf moved to help her. "Lass—"

Her legs wobbled and she fell to her knees. She moved to cover her mouth, but it was too late. With an agonized groan, she coughed up a globule of blood.

"Damn it," she muttered. A trickle of crimson blood accented her mouth; she wiped at it angrily. The potion's painkillers had completely worn off, and now there was no hiding the full extent of her injuries.

Both Brynjolf and Delvin hoisted her up on either side. "What happened to you, lass?"

"Cracked—augh!" Even talking caused her pain. "Ribs...my ribs."

"Why in Tamriel didn't you just _tell us?_" Delvin asked.

"Never mind that now, Del," said Brynjolf, worried lines etched into his face. Carefully they placed her on her bed. "Let's get Niruin, and fast. But first..." He pulled a sleeping draught from a nearby shelf. "Drink up, lass. It'll be easier for him to heal you if you're asleep."

Alora reluctantly obeyed, knowing that arguing with him would be pointless. At least sleep would shirk the pain. Within moments, she was lost in the world of dreams.


	17. The Day of Rest

**A/N: **Hi everyone! Thanks for your reviews on the past few chapters. Some of them made me laugh quite a bit.

Here's Chapter 17! I hope you like it.

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><p><em>Alora was falling.<em>

_Her lips opened to scream, but no sound emerged. Cold air rushed past her ears as she tumbled into an abyss blacker than night. There was no end to be seen. Faces swirled around her; her parents, her Guildmates, people she had stolen from in past years. She tried to reach for them, but her body was paralyzed. Septims began to fall like raindrops. One hit her in the face and dissolved into a shimmering gold powder._

_Suddenly, she came to a halt. Her arms were upraised, suspended by invisible strings. A spine-chilling cackle split the air. Somehow she was able to move, and she struggled against her bonds with fierce determination. Though she could see no ropes, she felt the fibers cutting into her wrists. Blood dripped down her bare arms like scarlet rivers. The deep color stood out against her skin, pale as moonglow._

_A callous male voice boomed overhead. "Why do you bother fighting?"_

_Alora reeled sickly. She knew that voice. It was _his _voice. "I won't stop fighting until you're dead!" Her reply sounded weak and raspy._

_Mercer laughed once again; it was a mocking sound, peppered with amusement. "Don't think you can best me."_

_"I can best you!" she yelled. "I can, and I will!"_

_"Foolish girl," he mused. "Don't you understand? You've already lost."_

_She shouted a rebuttal, but her words were lost. Mercer's laugh drowned out all sound. The invisible ropes that held her up loosened and she fell freely into the unknown darkness below._

_Once again she was swallowed by silence._

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><p>Alora lazily opened her eyes. It took her several moments to remember that she was in the Cistern, laid up with a rib injury. Slowly, she inhaled, please to find that her breathing was no longer restricted.<p>

Glancing at her torso, she tried to figure out exactly what Niruin and the others had done while she slept. Her armor had been removed; it lay in a neat pile next to her bed. The simple shirt she wore underneath her cuirass had been rolled up to the top of her ribcage. Thick white bandages were tightly wound around her injury. A few inches of flesh were visible below the bandages, exposing the mark Mercer's blade had left on her body, still pink and bright. Also exposed were half a dozen scars caused by the arrows of city watchmen from the few times she had been caught performing a robbery.

She yawned and stretched. Her arm reached out and brushed someone's arm; turning her head, she saw Brynjolf asleep in a wooden chair next to her bed. Dark circles accentuated his eyes. His head rested against the wall behind him, and his fingers loosely grasped an orange potion bottle. Alora recognized it to be a Draught of Regeneration.

At her touch, he stirred and opened his eyes. The potion slid from his fingers and rolled across the floor. "Oi," he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He stretched his back; doubtless he was sore from sleeping in a chair all night. "Niruin! She's awake!"

The elf, who had been chatting with Cynric across the room, hurried to her bedside. Over the next few minutes, he put her through a series of tests. Could she sit up? Was her breathing regular? Any coughing? Did she sleep through the night? After all questions were answered with a "yes" or "no," Niruin unwound her bandages. Her side was mottled purple with bruises, but there was no swelling. He dressed her injury with fresh bandages and gave her a Potion of Minor Healing to drink.

"You're going to be fine for travel in the morning," Niruin assessed. "The magic I applied was _exceedingly _powerful. But I'd keep resting today, just to be sure."

Alora started to protest, and Brynjolf grinned. "Hear that, lass? You have to stay in bed _all day._"

"I feel fine! Can't I just—"

"No," Niruin said firmly.

"D'you want to defeat Mercer or not? You need to rest up. Honestly, lass, use your head," said Brynjolf.

She sighed. "I just feel strange laying in bed when I could be doing something useful."

"Must you always be useful?" Niruin asked, amused.

"Yes."

Brynjolf chuckled. "Of course. We wouldn't want you to sit for five minutes."

She smiled in spite of herself. "Exactly."

"Well, today you will rest. I'll get you something from the Flagon," Niruin said, and took his leave.

"That was nice of him," Alora commented, watching the elf's retreating back.

"Aye, he's a great person to have around in situations like this. If he hadn't been able to heal Vex's wounds, the Goldenglow job probably would have killed her."

A question popped into her mind. "Bryn? Why were you sleeping in that chair?"

"You were writhing in the night...I wanted to make sure you were okay. Gave you an extra dose of a regeneration potion. Niruin said it would help better than a healing potion."

Touched by his act of friendship, she met his eyes warmly. "Thank you."

Brynjolf smiled. "Of course, lass."

Throughout the rest of the day, Alora and Brynjolf talked and planned their trip to Irkngthand. She would have thought being laid up in bed would bore her, but her friends kept her entertained and happy. Every once and a while, Niruin would come and redress her injury. When he found the time, Delvin came and sat with them, talking and sharing more of his famous stories. Vex came in with Delvin and stood nearby, leaning against the wall. Even some Guild members she didn't know very well, like Rune and Vipir, came by to see how she was healing up, and offer a story of their own.

It was during this time that Alora came to a realization. Before she found the Guild, her life had felt cold and without purpose. Now she had a reliable bed, gold in her pocket, and most importantly, friends that loved her and saw her as family. She knew that they would always watch her back, and she would watch theirs. And now, while she was in bed with a rib injury, they took the time to try and make her feel happy not because they felt obligated, but because they truly cared and wanted to see her get well. The revelation nearly brought tears to her eyes, but she forced them down before Niruin could ask if the pain was flaring up again.

When the day was winding down, she was surprised to receive a visit from Karliah. The willowy Dunmer asked to speak with her and Brynjolf privately; without questioning, the other Guild members surrounding her bed dispersed.

"Is this about Mercer?" Alora asked.

"Yes—well, sort of. For now, let's just say that I know a way to gain an advantage over him."

"How?" asked Brynjolf, perplexed.

"All will be explained," said Karliah. "Are we planning on leaving for Irkngthand tomorrow?"

Alora nodded. "Yes. Niruin said I should be fine for travel."

"Good. Before we head for the ruin, though, we need to stop somewhere else."

"Not to seem rude, lass, but we don't really have time for any more 'stops,'" said Brynjolf sternly. "Unless you think it's of great importance."

"It is. It could very well be the difference between victory or defeat," said Karliah, meeting his gaze with knitted brows.

"Well, where's it to be, then?" Alora asked.

"It's not far from here. The standing stone just outside of Riften."

"Care to explain further?" Brynjolf inquired.

Karliah shook her head. "Not here. The matter is of great delicacy...not to mention secrecy."

Though they prodded her for more information, the Dunmer would not supply them with any, so they simply agreed to meet her at the standing stone at dawn's first light. Then she left them, taking the secret passage out of the Cistern and into the graveyard above.

"What d'you think she's on about?" Alora asked.

"I'm not sure, lass...we'll have to trust Karliah on this, whatever it is. Anyway, how are you feeling?"

"I feel fine. Tired, though." She leaned back on her pillow, her hair splayed out like an ebony fan.

Brynjolf rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Alora?"

He used her name again, startling her once more. Would she ever get used to that? "Hm?"

"I was wondering...why didyou try and hide your injury? Niruin, Delvin, and I had our guesses, but I wanted to hear it from you."

She looked down at her bandages. "I didn't want to waste any more time. Mercer's on the run...my injury would only slow us down."

"That was my guess," said Brynjolf. "I thought you'd—"

"I had another reason," she interrupted, though the thought had only just occurred to her. "You're always so worried about me getting hurt, I...well, I didn't want you to...trouble yourself...over me again."

Brynjolf leaned forward, smiling. "I'm afraid I always trouble myself over you, lass."

Alora frowned slightly, confused by his comment. "What do you—"

She stopped talking as Brynjolf moved closer, brushing a lock of hair from her face. He didn't say anything, only looked at her with an expression of such tenderness that she found herself afraid to move. She closed her eyes when his lips found hers, and didn't flinch when his fingers traced the line of her jaw. Her heart pounded violently, and color bloomed in her cheeks.

He broke the kiss, but held her face for a moment, as if he wasn't quite ready to let go. "Good night, lass," he murmured.

She didn't respond, only watched him leave and disappear into the Flagon. Her body was still stiff with shock. His actions had surprised her, but she wasn't at all angry or upset. No, she was almost—dare she say it?—_happy_.

Still, she wasn't completely sure of her feelings for Brynjolf. Things would be strange between them in the morning, certainly, but she wouldn't let that stand in the way of her focus. Defeating Mercer _had_ to be at the forefront of her mind. That was the most important thing. Once Mercer was dead, then maybe...

_No_, she thought. _Enough for one night._ Reaching for the sleeping draught on her end table, she took a long sip and dissolved into darkness.


	18. The Nightingales

**A/N: **Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I was out of town for 4 days, and then I got crazy sick.

Hope you enjoy it!

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><p>The sun had barely risen when Brynjolf and Alora slipped out of Riften the next day. Silhouettes of stars were still visible in the predawn sky. Their boots crunched on dew-wet grass as they trudged through the wilderness, following the road and trying to remain unnoticed. Neither of them had spoken much; whether from apprehension over their journey or tension regarding the previous night, Alora couldn't be sure. In any case, she was glad that Brynjolf wasn't overly talkative. It made it easier for her to focus on the task ahead.<p>

After an hour had passed, the standing stone came into focus. Karliah was already there, sitting with her back against the rocky structure. The two thieves picked up their pace. It was only when they reached the stone that Alora noticed the fear and trepidation in the Dunmer's eyes.

"I'm glad you're here," she said, rising.

Alora shifted. "Let's not waste any time. Why did you have us come here?"

Karliah gestured toward the slab of rock behind the standing stone. "This is the headquarters of the Nightingales, cut into the mountainside by the first of our kind...we've come to seek the edge we need to defeat Mercer Frey."

"What kind of an edge?" asked Brynjolf.

"If you'll follow me, I'll try to explain along the way." Turning away from them, Karliah placed a hand on the slab of rock and whispered something. A flash of purple light burst from her palm, and the mountain caved in to reveal a shabby wooden door. She motioned for them to follow. Silently, Brynjolf and Alora entered the tunnel behind her.

Alora had expected the headquarters to be small and cramped, certainly not open and breathable. For once she was glad to be proven wrong. The wide hallways were dotted with torches, throwing the scene before her into sharp relief. She could see a thin waterfall cascading down the old stone walls, splashing onto rocks and emptying into a shallow stream. Cloth tapestries bearing the Nightingale crest hung from the ceiling. Tables and bookshelves were scattered about, covered in dust.

"This is Nightingale Hall," said Karliah. "You're the first of the uninitiated to set foot inside in over a century."

Brynjolf looked around in obvious awe. "I heard about this place when I joined the Guild, but I never believed it existed..."

"The assumption that the Nightingales were just a myth was seeded within the Guild on purpose...it helped avert attention from our true nature."

Alora gripped the straps of her pack tightly. She had a premonition of where Karliah was taking them. Her suspicions were only strengthened when the Dunmer brought them to the armory and made them put on what she called the "Nightingale armor."

It was beautiful. The onyx-colored cuirass, greaves, gloves, boots, and hood were offset by a flowing black cape. Alora's face was obscured by a thin mask that luckily did not hinder her ability to see, breathe, or talk. Karliah said that the armor was loaded with enchantments that would help her move quietly, pick locks easily, and fight longer without tiring. Although the material was harder than leather, it felt even lighter than her old Guild armor. She knew that the Nightingale set would allow her to truly become one with the shadows.

After the thieves had donned the armor, they set off down yet another hallway. Karliah was silent, offering no explanation or indication of where they were going. Finally, she stopped outside of an enormous arched gate.

Brynjolf spoke first. "Okay, lass. We've got these getups on...now what?"

"Beyond this gate is the first step to becoming a Nightingale," came the cool reply.

"Whoa there, lass," said Brynjolf, taking a step back. "I appreciate the armor, but becoming a Nightingale? That was never discussed."

Karliah looked at him with hard eyes. "To hold any hope of defeating Mercer, we must have Nocturnal at our backs. If she's to accept you as one of her own, an arrangement must be struck."

"What sort of arrangement? I need to know the terms."

"The terms are quite simple, Brynjolf," said Karliah. "Nocturnal will allow you to become a Nightingale and use your abilities for whatever you wish...and in return, both in life and death, you must serve as a guardian of the Twilight Sepulcher."

Brynjolf sighed. "Aye, there's always a catch. But at this point, I suppose there isn't much to lose...if it means the end of Mercer Frey, you can count me in."

"What about you?" asked Karliah, facing Alora. "Are you ready to transact the Oath with Nocturnal?"

"Hold on. What is the 'Twilight Sepulcher?' Didn't Gallus say something about that in his journal?" Alora knit her brow. "Forgive my questions, Karliah, but I'm someone who likes to know how deep the water is before I jump into it."

The Dunmer nodded, understanding. "The Twilight Sepulcher is a sort of tomb. It contains—well, it _did_ contain—an artifact known as the Skeleton Key."

"Hang on—I've heard of the Key," said Brynjolf. "Isn't it the famed unbreakable lockpick?"

"It's more than just an unbreakable lockpick," Karliah explained. "It can also tap into the hidden potential that everyone possesses; the ability to wield great power, securely sealed within our minds...once you realize the Key can access these traits, the possibilities are limitless. As Nightingales, we are sworn to guard the Sepulcher and the Key from those who might wish to harness its power."

"What happened to it?" Alora asked, though she already knew the answer.

Karliah's face fell. "You may remember Gallus's journal stating that Mercer desecrated the Sepulcher..."

"You mean to say that he took the Key?" Brynjolf sounded shocked. "That would explain how he picked into the Guild treasury..."

"It would also explain why the Guild's been on a steady decline the past few years," said Karliah. "If the Key is not returned to the Sepulcher, the Guild will soon be nonexistent. If the Key _is_ returned, Nocturnal will realign herself with the Guild. Our presence in Skyrim will strengthen and grow until we are the faction we used to be."

Alora nodded. If becoming a Nightingale would bring the Guild back to its former glory, then she would do it without hesitation. "I will take the Oath."

"Good." Karliah turned and pulled a chain; the gate behind her opened. "Let's go. Alora, stand on the western circle. Brynjolf, the eastern."

Inside, a large underground lake took up most of the room. Three bridges connected the floor to three separate circular pillars surrounded by water. Alora and Brynjolf walked across to their designated places, and Karliah took the one in the center. Below her feet, Alora noticed a large glyph: the crest of the Nightingales.

Karliah's voice echoed throughout the room. "I call upon you, Lady Nocturnal, Queen of Murk and Empress of Shadow...hear my voice!"

For awhile, nothing happened. Then a large, crackling orb of violet energy gathered at the center of the three pillars. From its depths came a booming female voice.

"Ah, Karliah. I was wondering when I'd hear from you again. Lose something, did we?"

Karliah knelt before the orb. "My Lady, I've come before you to throw myself upon your mercy and to accept responsibility for my failure."

"You're already mine, Karliah," said Nocturnal. "Your terms were struck long ago. What could you possibly offer me now?"

"I have two others that wish to transact the Oath; to serve you both in life and in death."

"You surprise me, Karliah. This offer is definitely weighted in _my_ favor."

"My appetite for Mercer's demise exceeds my craving for wealth, Your Grace."

"Revenge? How..._interesting_." Nocturnal did not speak for several moments. Then, "Very well, the conditions are acceptable. You may proceed."

Karliah spoke the Oath. "Lady Nocturnal, we accept your terms. We dedicate ourselves to you as both your avengers and your sentinels. We will honor our agreement in this life and the next until your conditions have been met."

A purple smoke began to swirl around the three thieves. Alora could feel magic seeping into her body, a binding magic that would secure her Oath and assure her allegiance to Nocturnal in this life and the next. The magic frightened her; she hadn't expected it, and she shut her eyes to keep from losing her composure.

At last, Nocturnal spoke and the flow of magic ceased. "I name your initiates Nightingale and I restore your status to the same, Karliah...and in the future, I'd suggest you refrain from disappointing me again." In a flash of violet light, the orb disappeared.

Karliah looked shaken as she, Alora, and Brynjolf descended from the pillars and stood together at the center of the room. Meeting Alora's eyes, Karliah said, "Before we depart for Irkngthand, Brynjolf has some business to discuss with you...I suggest you listen to him." She turned around and walked back the way they came.

As Alora watched Karliah's retreating back, Brynjolf said, "Give her a few minutes. It must have been difficult, going before Nocturnal after she failed to protect the Key."

"We have to get it back," Alora said. "It's the only hope the Guild has."

"Old Delvin said it was a curse, and we all laughed at him...I guess the joke's on us." He chuckled softly. "But that's not what I want to discuss with you. There's one last piece of business we need to settle before going after Mercer...the leadership of the Guild."

Alora didn't respond, only stared at him with wide eyes. Just like with Karliah and the Nightingales, she knew exactly where Brynjolf was headed.

"Karliah and I had a long discussion while you were at Mercer's house," he continued. "Thanks to your efforts, Mercer's treachery has been exposed. After we deal with him, all that remains is returning the Key and restoring the Guild to its full strength. As a result, we both feel that you have the potential of replacing Mercer as leader of the Thieves Guild."

Alora looked away. "No...not me. What about you?"

"I've been at this game a long time. A _long_ time. I've stolen trinkets from nobles and framed priests for murder. I'm good at what I do, maybe even one of the best. But it's all I know. I've never been one to lead. Never desired it, never cared for it...don't want it."

"I can't," Alora insisted. "I haven't been around long enough, I can't command the same authority as you—"

Brynjolf cut her off. "Yes you can. They respect you, lass. Niruin respects you. Delvin respects you. I definitely respect you. Sometimes I think even _Vex_ respects you." He smiled. "Everyone says you're a great asset to the Guild. And think what you want, lass, but there's really no denying it. You're the best damn thief we've got."

"No," she whispered. "You...you honor me too much."

"Not enough is more like it," he said. "So, lass, what say you?"

Alora, awed and humbled, had to force her tears away. "I...accept."

Brynjolf's smile broadened into a grin. "Then it's decided. When this is all over and Delvin's contacts assure me that we've regained our footing in Skyrim, we'll handle the details...until that time, we have quite the task ahead."

"Let's get going, then...we shouldn't waste another minute." She turned to leave.

"Wait." He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she whirled around in surprise. "That's not all I wanted to say to you."

Alora's heart began to pound. "Oh."

Brynjolf ran a hand over the back of his head. "I wanted to...apologize for my actions yesterday. I shouldn't have done that without being sure of how you feel about me." He paused, looking at her hopefully. "_Do _you know how you feel about me?"

Alora's throat tightened, and she felt a blush creeping over her face. "I—" the word came out in a squeak. This was a topic she had very little experience dealing with, and she was unsure of what to answer. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "I'm...I'm confused. I'm not sure now is the best time for us to be...well, anything."

"Be honest with me, lass. Are you saying that your feelings are friendly, and nothing more?"

"Not exactly..." She felt her blush deepen. "It's just hard to sort out my feelings when so much else is on my mind...defeating Mercer, for instance."

To her surprise, he smiled. "So, after Mercer's dead, and the dust settles..."

"Let's take it one leg at a time." It was the best answer she could think of, and it seemed to satisfy Brynjolf.

And so, together, they set off to catch up with Karliah and begin the journey to Irkngthand.


	19. The Ruins, Part 1

It was daybreak. The rustic spires of Irkngthand loomed overhead, drenching the land in shadows. Stone bridges and staircases crisscrossed the surrounding area, making it difficult for the three thieves to determine which way to go. Only Karliah's superb sense of direction saved them; her nostrils detected the smell of wood smoke, suggesting that someone—or some_thing_—was camped outside.

Following the scent, the trio happed upon a group of bandits still asleep in their bedrolls. Karliah placed a finger to her lips and motioned for them to follow.

They had agreed the previous day that Karliah should be the one to take the lead on this mission. Neither Alora or Brynjolf had ever set foot in a Dwemer ruin, but Karliah had. Her forced exile had often sent her blundering into the caverns of many ancient Dwemer structures. Only she knew what to expect once they set foot inside. During their long trek to Irkngthand, the Dunmer had educated them on Dwarven Spiders, Dwarven Spheres, and vile creatures known as the Falmer that often resided inside Dwemer ruins.

Bandits were not an expected challenge. The thieves made short work of them, however. A few arrows from Alora and Karliah did the job. In the end, they were grateful for them; they had not only provided them with a means of finding the entrance, but a hefty amount of gold and extra health potions as well.

"Mercer must've slipped past them," Brynjolf remarked, pocketing a small coinpurse. "Unless they got here after he did."

Inside the ruin, they found more bandits. Mercer, it seemed, had not been able to sneak past this group. Five corpses were strewn about the floor, laying in puddles of their own blood. It was a gruesome spectacle. The Guildmaster hadn't spared the loot, either. No gold, potions, or jewels were to be found.

Further in, the ruin darkened considerably. Because her eyesight was hindered, Alora's feet stumbled over a pile of bronze levers and metal scraps.

"Careful!" Karliah hissed.

Alora blushed, angry at herself. She had made a stupid mistake, sure, but she wasn't about to apologize. She hated apologizing.

Bending over, Brynjolf picked up one of the metal pieces. "What is this, lass?"

Karliah took the scrap from him and examined it carefully. "A Dwarven Sphere. Well, what's left of it..."

Alora studied the pile at her feet. "D'you think Mercer got to all—"

She jumped in surprise as a golden ball came rolling out of nowhere, clicking and emitting trails of steam. It sprung to life in an almost human-like form, though it had wheels for feet and sharp blades for arms. How was she supposed to fight such a thing?

As if in answer, Karliah's arrow whistled through the air and pierced the Sphere. It clattered to the ground in a heap of metal.

"You have to know _where_ to hit it," the Dunmer explained, pulling her arrow from the Sphere's emaciated body. "I'm sorry. I should've explained this earlier." She picked up the Sphere's chest plate, pointing to the hole her arrow had made. "Right here—the upper chest—that's where the Spheres are weakest. Of course, you could always lop off a limb, but I find this to be much more practical."

And so they pressed onward. When the darkness became too much of a deterrent, Karliah had to convince Alora to let her use a Candlelight spell.

"It's not dangerous," she explained. "It'll follow us around, and provide light. That's all."

Alora reluctantly agreed. They needed light, that much was certain, and she wouldn't risk them getting caught by surprise simply because she hated magic.

As their feet padded down hallway after hallway, she learned to ignore the magical floating light. They were simply far too busy taking down Spheres, Spiders, and the occasional skeever. Three Spheres fell to Alora's arrows, and Brynjolf's dagger took down five. The more they fought, the easier it became to defeat the strange metal men.

"I don't know how Mercer was able to sneak past all of these," Brynjolf muttered, flicking oil droplets off his dagger. "Without a light, especially."

"He was alone," Alora said simply. "It always easier to sneak when you're alone."

Karliah nodded. "She's right. Still, we could stand to be a _little_ quieter..."

"It doesn't matter how quiet we are. Your floating light will still give us away," Alora said bitterly. "We might as well be marching down the halls with a fanfare of trumpets to announce our arrival."

Karliah was not amused. Brynjolf, on the other hand, was choking back laughter.

"Come on, Brynjolf. This is serious," Karliah scolded. "We need to get a move on."

"Yes, Brynjolf, we wouldn't want to waste any more time," Alora mimicked, joining him in laughter. "It only took us a whole damn week to get here!"

They collapsed into fits of merriment. Karliah, who was always softspoken, who never lost her temper, looked on the verge of exploding.

"Enough of that," she said through clenched teeth. "We're hunting down our greatest enemy, and you're—"

"Oh, come now, lass," said Brynjolf.

"Yes, lass, come now," said Alora, and they dissolved into laughter once more.

* * *

><p>When their laughter had subsided and Karliah had cooled off enough to speak to them normally, they continued on their journey.<p>

"What _were_ you thinking back there?" the elf wanted to know, sidestepping a pressure plate. "Honestly."

Alora smiled slightly. "I think we just needed a laugh."

"What do you mean by that?"

"The tension was too thick," Brynjolf answered, stealing the words from Alora's mouth.

Karliah humphed, but otherwise had no answer.

Over the next half hour, the trio walked through a seemingly endless maze of hallways and caverns, striking down Spheres and Spiders as they went. Alora had never been in a place so _large_. Snow Veil Sanctum had been big, but not nearly as colossal as Irkngthand. As time passed, she began to wonder how long they had been inside the ancient ruin. Where was the end? Would they have to sleep here?

"Wait," Karliah said, interrupting her thoughts.

"What's wrong?" asked Brynjolf.

The Dunmer gestured toward a tripwire a few feet in front of them. "That wire," she said, "Will release that fire trap." She pointed to a lamp hanging from the ceiling a little farther in.

_Oh gods, no,_ Alora thought, recognizing the same oil lamp setup she and Mercer encountered in Snow Veil Sanctum. _No, no, no..._

"There's oil all over the floor; we can't walk in that. Plus, it'll burn up any enemies waiting for us," said Karliah. "I'm going to shoot the wire."

Brynjolf saw the horrified look on Alora's face, and a flash of recognition danced in his eyes. His voice was urgent as he tried to warn Karliah. "Lass, wait—"

It was too late. Karliah released her arrow, cleanly severing the wire in two. Alora was already running away when the explosion resounded. She screamed and threw herself onto the ground, covering her ears. Mercer's voice echoed in her mind, venomous, taunting. _Stop cowering like a child._ Over and over again, his words ran through her head. _Stop cowering like a child!_ Tears began to run down her cheeks, and her body racked with tremors. How long would this explosion last? Were there more lamps than Karliah had seen?

She felt a warm presence at her back. Brynjolf's protective arms wrapped around her shaking form, holding her tightly until the explosions ceased and the fire burnt itself out.

Even after it was over, she couldn't bring herself to stand. She collapsed into Brynjolf's arms, her tears becoming violent sobs. She was weak, a coward, a child. Mercer's words rang true. Stealing didn't scare her, thugs didn't scare her, not even draugr scared her. Those things could be controlled. But fire? Against fire she was powerless. Against fire, she knew nothing but fear. Fire could not be controlled. Burying her face into Brynjolf's neck, she cried until she couldn't anymore. Now he knew what a weakling she truly was.

He whispered incomprehensible words into her ear. Though she couldn't hear what he said, his voice brought her peace. His arms brought her peace. In that moment, she realized that Brynjolf was the only person in Tamriel that she trusted. He was the only person she would grieve over losing; the only person who could coax her out of fear and sadness.

When at last she began to calm down, Brynjolf helped her stand. She reached for her water flask and took a long draught in the hopes of regaining her stamina.

Karliah, who had been standing a few yards away, approached them. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her eyes full of remorse. "I had no idea...I should've known—"

"It's alright, Karliah," Alora rasped. "Can we keep going?" She needed to move, to focus her attention on something else. She needed to return to normality.

The elf nodded, and they resumed their journey. Brynjolf stuck close to Alora until her resolve had fully recovered. Hallway after hallway bled by. No sign of Mercer, no sign of any enemies. Though Alora was glad that no metal men jumped out to surprise them, it made her nervous all the same.

Eventually the hallway emptied into an enormous cavern. A heavy bronze gate prevented them from going down into it, but they could still see through it.

"Wait a moment...what's that?" Karliah whispered, approaching the gate. "It's Mercer! Look, down there!"

"What?" Alora ran to where Karliah was standing. Sure enough, there he was, far below them. He appeared to be digging through a pile of rubble, searching for the Eyes of the Falmer, undoubtedly.

Brynjolf ran practiced hands over the gate, searching for a hidden lock or opening. "Damn it! There's no way through."

"He's toying with us," said Karliah. "He _wants_ us to follow."

"Aye, lass...and we'll be ready for him."


	20. The Ruins, Part 2

Catching sight of Mercer sent the trio into a hasty pursuit. No longer did they waste time sneaking and keeping to the shadows; now they ran, fast and hard. Karliah led, flying down the hallway with soft footfalls on the cold stone floor. Alora and Brynjolf trailed behind, not nearly as fast as the lithe elf, but well enough in shape to keep going for an extraordinarily long time.

Every so often a Sphere or Spider would round the corner, only to be taken down by a slew of arrows. Skilled archers that they were, both Alora and Karliah were able to shoot them while running. The robots disintegrated before Brynjolf even had time to draw his dagger. He didn't seem to mind, and if he did, he didn't say anything. None of them said anything. To speak was to waste precious breath, and they needed breath to keep apace.

Soon, the hallway widened into a gargantuan cavern. The soft purr of machinery was replaced by dripping water, cracking rocks, and the feral growl of the Falmer.

Suddenly, Karliah stopped running. Alora and Brynjolf came to a careening halt and bent over, taking in huge gulps of air.

"There's Falmer up ahead," Karliah whispered. "We can fight them, or―" She paused and stared at her exhausted companions. "Are you two going to live?"

"Nords aren't exactly built for running long distances," Alora gasped.

The Dunmer's red eyes glittered with amusement. "Nords aren't exactly built for stealth, either."

"She's right, lass," said Brynjolf. "Maybe we should trade in our daggers for battleaxes and join the Stormcloak army."

Karliah sighed, but a tiny smile played at the corners of her mouth. "I only meant that you've already broken every other Nordic stereotype."

Brynjolf chuckled. "I know, lass, I know. Now, what's this about Falmer?"

"This cavern is full of them," she said, serious once more. "There's two things you need to know about Falmer. First, though they're not particularly difficult to kill, they are plentiful in numbers. You can safely bet that there will be at least ten in here, maybe more. And second, they're blind. We can sneak around them as long as we're quiet, to save time."

"If you think sneaking past them will get us to Mercer faster," said Alora, "I think that would be best."

Karliah nodded. "Alright then. I'd keep your dagger out, though, just in case...the Falmer may be blind, but they have sensitive ears."

Getting around the creatures turned out to be an intricate task. The cavern floor was riddled with large rocks, metal chunks, and bear traps, making it difficult to traverse without being heard. She didn't mention it to Karliah, but Alora wished they _had _decided to kill the Falmer. Sneaking on this terrain took far too much time. Every breath, every movement they made had to be perfectly silent, or they would be spotted, and there would be a bloodbath.

One cavern followed another, and soon the thieves grew impatient. They weren't gaining any time by sneaking. Mercer was close, they knew it. Killing the Falmer would clear the way much faster.

Their strategy was simple. From a distance, Alora and Karliah were able to pick off most of the creatures. When they got too close for comfort, Brynjolf stepped in and slashed at them with a dagger in each hand. For what seemed like hours they fought; running across bridges, climbing over fallen pillars, solving infamous Dwarven puzzles, all while leaving dead Falmer in their wake.

In addition to Falmer and other creatures, Irkngthand was also well-stocked with treasures. In his haste to unearth the Eyes of the Falmer, Mercer had ignored a plethora of valuables: gold, jewels, potions, rare alchemical ingredients, even weapons of Dwarven origin. Alora was glad she had brought little with her. The amount of gold she now carried would be enough to get her by for months.

Eventually, they forced themselves to take a brief rest, eat, and drink water. Alora was ravenous. How long had they been inside Irkngthand? It was impossible to tell. She was tired enough to sleep, but that was highly inconceivable. Instead she drank a Potion of Stamina, sighing in relief as newfound energy washed through her veins and eased her sore muscles.

"We're getting close," said Karliah, tucking away her water flask. "I'm sure of it."

After resting for ten minutes, they felt good enough to keep going. Well, as good as they were going to feel on little food and no sleep. Determination was their energy source now. After a few more run-ins with Falmer, the trio stumbled across an enemy Karliah had hoped they wouldn't have to cross.

"A Dwarven Centurion," she whispered.

Alora sized up the massive robot. It was about three times her height, and wider than four of her. Its body was made up of large metal plates; one arm was a warhammer, the other an axe.

It was, undoubtedly, the most deadly-looking enemy Alora had ever seen.

"Do we have to fight that thing?" Alora asked.

"Not if we can get around it," Karliah replied.

"I don't know about you both, but I'm content with leaving it alone," said Brynjolf warily. "That thing could kill us with one swipe."

"Getting around a Centurion is very difficult," Karliah warned. "They pick up the slightest noise."

"Maybe we should just fight it," Alora suggested. "What if we need to come back through here?"

Karliah looked thoughtful. "There _is_ a way." In one swift movement, she lifted her quiver over her head and extracted a handful of arrows. "If we're to fight it, then you'll have to follow my instructions. I know how to defeat it, and we're at an advantage."

"How?" Brynjolf asked.

"Centurions may be powerful, but their movements are slow. We may be far enough away to repress it before it gets to us."

"What's your tactic?" Alora wanted to know.

Karliah lifted her hand, palm up. An orb of orange fire gathered at the center, causing Alora to recoil in surprise.

"Sorry," said Karliah. "It's just for a moment, I promise." She picked up her arrows and eased them into the fire, heating the tips until they glowed red-hot. "Now your arrows."

She passed them over. "Here. You do it."

Once she was finished, the fire disappeared, and Alora relaxed. Karliah nocked one of her arrows and aimed for the Centurion. "Quick, before they cool. Aim for the joints; that's their weakest point."

It was a race. The second Karliah's arrow struck the Centurion's arm socket, it surged to life, roaring in fury and searching for its attacker. While it was distracted, Alora buried two arrows in its legs, Karliah its arms. By the time the robot had discovered their location, its movements were sluggish. The heated arrows were melting the metal.

"It's getting closer!" Brynjolf yelled over the Centurion's roar.

"Only a few more!" Karliah yelled back. With a _twang_, she released an arrow and caught the robot in the neck. The metal sizzled and popped. After Alora shot a second arrow, the head slid off completely. Karliah released two arrows at once, knocking off both arms.

"Care to do the honors?" Karliah asked.

Grinning, Alora nocked two arrows, aimed, and released. The Centurion's legs buckled, and it fell to the ground with a mighty crash.

"Well," Brynjolf said, and laughed. "_That_ was exciting."

Alora put away her remaining arrows; they were still hot to the touch. "No, that was _terrifying_."

"Aye, that too."

* * *

><p>The thieves stood before a great, golden door; greater than any others they had seen within the halls of Irkngthand.<p>

"D'you think this is it?" Alora asked, wringing her hands nervously.

Karliah nodded. "Yes. I'm positive that this is it."

Brynjolf unsheathed his dagger. "I can't wait to get my hands around that bastard's neck."

"Easy, Brynjolf," said Karliah. "And remember, whatever happens in there, we _must_ get the Key, whatever the cost."

Alora readied her bow. "Alright..." She was scared, her voice was quaking with nerves. "Let's go. Let's kill him."

Together, the trio pushed open the door.

Inside was what appeared to be an ancient Dwarven sanctuary. Sweeping her eyes over the room, Alora saw two staircases on either side of a massive statue. The statue, she assumed, was of a Snow Elf, or what the Falmer used to be before subterranean slavery morphed them into the foul creatures they were now. And at the statue's head—

_Mercer_.

"He's here, and he hasn't seen us yet," Karliah whispered, so faintly Alora could barely make out the words. "Brynjolf, watch the door."

"Aye, lass. Nothing's getting by me."

"Climb down that ledge, and see if you can—"

All of a sudden, Mercer dropped from the statue. He faced them, a cold sneer on his lips. Rage swelled inside Alora, an intense, burning rage that caused her face to redden and her fists to clench tightly around her bow. This man stole from the Guild treasury. This man murdered Gallus, framed Karliah, and called himself innocent. This man nearly drove the Guild to extinction by desecrating the Twilight Sepulcher and turning Nocturnal against them. This man she would hurt; this man she would kill.

Without thinking, she nocked an arrow and released it, only to have him cast a ward and deflect its oncoming strike.

"Foolish girl!" he scoffed, drawing his blade. Alora shuddered, recognizing the same words he had used in her nightmare just days before. He descended the stairs, and with every step he took she felt herself growing angrier and angrier. "When Brynjolf brought you before me I knew I could feel a sudden shift in the wind...and at that moment I knew it would end with one of us at the end of a blade."

"Hand over the Key, Mercer!" Karliah shouted.

Mercer laughed, and a chill raced up Alora's spine. "What tales have you been filling her head with with? Nocturnal doesn't care about you, the Key, or anything having to do with the Guild!"

"This isn't about Nocturnal," Alora growled. "This is _personal_."

"Our actions have always been one and the same. Both of us lie, cheat and steal to further our own end!"

"The difference is that _I_ still have honor."

He laughed again. Oh, how it angered her. "You've chosen to fall over your own foolish code."

She unsheathed both of her daggers. "If anyone falls, it will be _you_!"

Mercer's eyes blazed with fury. "Then the die is cast, and once again my blade will taste Nightingale blood!"

He paused and spread his arms wide. With a flash of red light, the room began to shake, and part of the ceiling caved in. A steady stream of water began to fall. Alora gaped in horror when she realized what he was doing.

Mercer intended to flood the room. He would escape with the Key, and they would die.

"No," Alora muttered through clenched teeth. "You gods-cursed _bastard!_"

He ignored her insult and concentrated on the spell building up in his palm. Before she could stop him, he brought his arm back and threw the orb of red magic. It hit Brynjolf squarely in the chest. He stumbled back with a yell.

Alora ran for Mercer. She would kill him for that, she would kill him for witching Brynjolf. She would stab him through the heart and feel no remorse.

She heard Karliah yell in frustration; whatever spell Mercer had cast on Brynjolf was now causing him to turn on the elf.

"Fight it, Brynjolf! He's taking control of you!"

Alora could not turn to help them. All that mattered now was killing Mercer. With Brynjolf witched and fighting Karliah, the task rested on her shoulders. She had to get to him, before the sanctuary filled up with water and they had no means of escape.

He was throwing spells at her now. She ducked, dodged, and rolled, desperately trying to avoid getting hit by the merciless red orbs. He raced up the stairs. She followed in hot pursuit.

"Stop running, coward!" she bellowed.

A laugh was her only response. He was running down the opposite stairway, tossing spells over his shoulder. Thoughtlessly she threw one of her knives; he leaped aside. Her blade fell with a splash into the ever-rising pool of water. Cursing her stupidity, she increased her speed until her legs burned, desperation fueling her actions. He was headed straight for Brynjolf and Karliah.

She was nearly on him. Her arm slashed out and put a scratch in his armor, and he threw another spell. She ducked, and it missed her face by inches. He was almost to her friends, he was going to hurt them—

"AUGH!"

Mercer's enchanted sword had pierced Brynjolf's side, burning right through the armor.

A scream of rage ripped from Alora's throat. Fire built up inside of her, but not the kind of fire _she_ feared. No, this was the kind of fire _he _should fear. He had hurt her closest friend, her confidant, and now he would die. Mercer Frey was going to die.

Lashing out with her fist, she punched Mercer hard in the nose. She felt bone crack, and blood began to pour from his nostrils. He cried out and slashed at her blindly. She blocked his swing with one arm, and with the other, stabbed him in the neck. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the ground.

Alora fell to her knees, gasping for air. She coaxed her knife out of his flesh and wiped it clean.

"The Key!" Karliah cried. She was holding a strip of cloth to Brynjolf's wound; Mercer's death had ended the spell. "Get the Key!"

She nodded dumbly, searching through his pockets with shaking hands. Eventually she produced what appeared to be a gold, jewel-encrusted lockpick. This was the Key. But where were the Eyes? She had to hurry now, the water was closing in around her feet. There! From Mercer's pack she fished out two large gems that were lighter than they appeared to be. Quickly she tucked them away and went to Brynjolf.

"Bryn—can you hear me?" she asked, taking him by the shoulders.

He didn't reply, only groaned in pain as Karliah adjusted the already soaked cloth.

Alora felt tears burning in her eyes. They had to find a way out, and fast, or Brynjolf would lose too much blood. The water was up to her waist now. How would they get out? Mercer must have had an escape plan, or he wouldn't have tried to flood the sanctuary. Her eyes searched desperately for a hidden door or opening, but found none.

Now the water was closing in around her head. She and Karliah hoisted Brynjolf up on either side, trying to keep him afloat. Together they swam for the Snow Elf statue. The water was dangerously high, and soon there would be no room left to breathe. _At least Mercer's dead_, Alora thought. She could die somewhat peacefully knowing that the treacherous Guildmaster did not escape the ruins of Irkngthand.

Their heads nearly touched the ceiling. _This is it_, she thought. _It's over_.

Suddenly, the Skeleton Key in her hand flashed with a bright yellow light. The rocks above her head began to crumble, and eventually gave way to a tunnel overhead.

She could have cried with happiness.

With immense effort, she and Karliah pulled Brynjolf into the tunnel and onto dry ground. He was ghostly pale, weak and unconscious. It didn't matter that they had escaped; Brynjolf was still going to die. Alora threw herself over him, trying desperately to staunch the endless flow of blood. The tears in her eyes burst forth. She was in hysterics, and he was going to die.

"Alora, move so I can see to him," said Karliah.

"No!"

"Alora, move!" The elf shoved her out of the way, rolling up her sleeves as she prepared to use healing magic. Yellow threads of light laced through her fingers as she whispered an incantation. Slowly, Brynjolf's skin knit back together, and the flow of blood ceased. "Come on. Let's get him outside."

Shakily, Alora helped her move Brynjolf out of the tunnel and into the outside world. To her great relief, they were in a small clearing by a river, and it was not raining. They could rest. They could breathe.

Quickly the two women set up camp, too overwhelmed with the day's events to speak. Right now, all that mattered was keeping Brynjolf alive and safe.

"Let's get some sleep," said Karliah. "We'll sort everything out in the morning."

"What of Brynjolf? Will he be alright?"

"He'll live, Alora. I've healed the wound. He'll have to regain strength on his own, but he _will_ live. Trust the magic, let it work."

Trust the magic. Magic, the last thing she would ever rely on, was now her only hope.

With nothing left to say, the women climbed into their bedrolls. As the sun slipped below the horizon, Alora lay with one arm draped over Brynjolf. She would protect him, as he protected her.

Her eyes closed, and sleep came.


	21. The Awakening

**A/N: **Hi everyone. I'm so sorry for the delay. I hit a rough patch, as all writers tend to do once and a while.

Also, updates will be scant over the next few weeks. On the 24th I'm leaving on a mission trip, and then I'll be traveling over spring break. Fret not, though. I'm not abandoning this story.

Enjoy Chapter 21.

* * *

><p>When Alora woke, a sense of warmth enveloped her. Dawn's first rays leaked through the treetops, casting dappled shadows on the ground. Vaguely she could hear the river's gurgle. Overhead, a bird sang, greeting the new day with life and vigor.<p>

Her eyes fluttered open. Every muscle in her body groaned with pain, namely those in her legs. The previous day's events had taken a huge toll on her body. Maybe, just maybe, they could use today to rest. With Mercer dead, they were in no hurry to get back to Riften. The Guild would worry about them, sure, but at the moment all Alora could think about was sleep. She closed her eyes and drifted off once more.

Several hours later, the light shone directly into her eyes, forcing her out of slumber. Based on the sun's position, Alora determined that it was well past noon. She stifled a yawn, glancing at Karliah's bedroll. It was empty. _Gone off to find food, I suppose_, she thought.

A hand slid across her waist. She started in surprise; Brynjolf's arms had encircled her the entire time. As far as she could tell, he was still asleep. _Good. He needs the rest._

Smiling slightly, she tucked her head into the crook of his neck. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and she enjoyed the feeling of being held by someone bigger and stronger than she was. A sigh of contentment faded from her lips.

Brynjolf's hand caressed the small of her back, and her smile grew. _Perhaps not as asleep as I thought_. Slowly his hand moved to stroke the back of her head, and she turned so that her nose brushed the side of his face.

A strange happiness began to crawl its way into her heart. Mercer was dead, the Guild was safe, and Brynjolf was alive. Weakened, but alive. Of everything, she was happiest about that. To Oblivion with Mercer. Brynjolf was alive, and that was all that mattered. She curled into him, and his hold on her tightened. For several minutes they lay like that; unspeaking, simply content to hold each other.

Alora felt different. Lighthearted. Hopeful. It was as if the trek through Irkngthand had changed her views on what was important and what was not. Before Irkngthand, gold had been her primary concern. Moving up in the Guild. Taking better jobs to earn more coin. And, of course, exposing Mercer's treachery. For a long time, her mind had been consumed with thoughts of her hatred toward Mercer, and how she longed to sink a blade into his flesh. Now that he was dead, what was there? What was left to fight for?

The answer to her question tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb and stroking the nape of her neck. Of course. He had always been there, from the very beginning. Encouraging, trustworthy Brynjolf. In the darkest time of her life, he had brought her light. He had brought her something to live for. Something beside herself, something beside the never-ending quest for wealth. Where would she be without him? Wandering Skyrim, swiping gold from tables and struggling to find a place to sleep. Lost and without purpose.

He had brought her so much more than septims, or a bed, or reliable work. He had brought her friendship. His friendship was worth far more than any amount of gold.

Though she had pushed it away so many times, she knew that her heart craved more than just friendship. With a smile, she closed her eyes and buried her face into Brynjolf's neck.

His hand resumed stroking the back of her head. When he spoke, she could feel the rumble of his voice reverberate within his chest. "Did you sleep well, lass?"

She sighed. "Not really."

"Why is that?"

Absentmindedly her hand trailed over his torso and came to rest on the spot where Mercer had stabbed him. Looking up, she tried to convey with her eyes what she could not through simple speech.

Brynjolf placed his hand over hers. "You don't need to worry about me, lass. I'm going to be fine. As it is, I can barely feel a thing."

Memories of the previous day washed over her, and she felt her eyes burning. "You could've died, Bryn."

He tilted her chin upward. "Nonsense."

"It wasn't nonsense," she said, furrowing her brow. "He stabbed you. He could've killed you."

"He could've killed you, too, but he didn't."

"That's not the point."

"Then what _is_ the point, lass?"

Alora didn't have a response to that, and she didn't even try to think of one. Instead, she placed a hand on his face and kissed him full on the mouth.

For a brief moment, his body went rigid with surprise. Then, gradually, he sank into the kiss, willing it to deepen. One hand rested on her back; the other, on her cheek. Gentle fingertips wiped away the tears now coming forth. And, beneath her lips, she felt Brynjolf smile.

For once, Alora felt no uncertainty. Her heart was alive.

When the kiss broke, Brynjolf whispered into her ear, "So, it took me almost getting gutted for you to realize how you felt about me?"

Alora smiled, recognizing the laughter in his voice. "I think my heart knew what I wanted before my mind did."

His response was a second kiss, shorter than the first, but just as meaningful. She stared at him, the man that was so different from her, and yet so much the same. He completed her. What a fool she was to not have seen it before.

* * *

><p>It took them three days to reach Riften; partially because they didn't have horses, and partially because Brynjolf was still slow-moving after losing so much blood. By the third day, however, he was able to keep up with ease.<p>

The landscape perceptibly changed from snow-dusted mountains to grassy hills laced with rivers. Even when it rained, they refused to stop. It slowed them down, but it would never stop them. They were far too eager to return to the Guild and relate the news that Mercer was dead. Oh, there would be celebration tonight.

When the buildings of Riften came into view, they picked up their pace. "It's good to be home," said Brynjolf when they entered the city gates. "Riften may be corrupt, but it'll always be home."

Alora smiled. Thanks to him, she too could call Riften her home, and the Guild her family. They hadn't even been gone for a long time, but she still missed them terribly. How nice it would be to arrive at the Flagon, drink a cup of mead, and relate the story of their journey to people that she loved and cared about.

Instead of taking the secret entrance in the cemetery, the trio decided to use the Ratway entrance that led directly into the Ragged Flagon. That's where everyone would be. Sitting in the Flagon, awaiting their return.

"D'you think they got any work done since we left?" Alora asked.

"I'm sure Delvin tried to assign a few jobs," said Brynjolf. "Whether or not he was successful remains to be seen."

At last, they arrived at the entrance to the Flagon. Pressing her ear to the door, Alora detected the sound of muffled conversation and grinned. "They're in here."

Brynjolf placed a hand on the doorknob. "Ready, lass?" he asked, her grin mirrored on his face.

"Let's go."

The reaction was immediate. As soon as they pushed open the door, Delvin was on his feet, choking and sputtering on his drink. Vekel dropped the pitcher of mead he had been carrying. Niruin and Dirge openly stared. And everyone, _everyone_, was shouting questions. What took them so long? Was Mercer dead? Did they retrieve the Eyes of the Falmer? Then, slowly, their questions resolved into cheers, and their cheers into laughter. Just by looking at the smiles on the trio's faces, they could tell that their mission had been successful.

It took ten minutes for the voices to die down. Alora, Brynjolf, and Karliah received many pats on the back and the occasional embrace. Even obstinate Vex congratulated them with a smile. When everyone had calmed down enough, Vekel brought out the good Black-Briar Reserve, and the celebration began.

Weary as they were from their journey, the trio gladly accepted drinks and sat down among the Guild members. Rune had taken their packs back into the Cistern, but Alora kept the Key close. It wouldn't do to lose it now, not after all they went through to get it.

Of course, everyone wanted to know exactly what had occurred during their journey. Karliah told most of the story, while Brynjolf and Alora piped in once and a while to relate a detail she had missed. She spoke of everything from their encounter with the bandits, to the Dwarven Centurion, to Mercer's death by Alora's hand. This information was met with a second round of cheers. She blushed, wary of the praise.

When their story came to a close, Delvin whistled. "That's quite a tale," he said, draining his cup. "So you got the Eyes, then, eh?"

Alora nodded and drew them from the pack at her waist. "I think this will make up for the gold that Mercer stole from us."

"They're worth far more than what he took," Delvin mused, taking one of the gemstones and examining it with a practiced eye. "I'll find a buyer for these."

"Are you sure?"

"It's what I do, Swiftknife."

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur of contentment. They drank up the last of the Reserve, much to Vekel's dismay, though he said it was warranted. When Delvin had downed a bit too much, he stood up on his chair and began leading the Guild into some bawdy song about beggars and fishwives. By the end of it, everyone was howling with laughter.

"C'mon!" Delvin shouted. "Everybody!"

Brynjolf was the first to join in, slinging an arm over Alora's shoulder and singing along with the tune. She laughed and raised her cup, adding her voice to the fray. Dirge was next, followed by Cynric. Soon everyone but Vex was singing—well, moreso shouting—along with Delvin's song.

Strange as it was, Alora felt a sense of warmth and unity among the Guild in that moment. They were together, singing along with some song she'd never heard before, enjoying each others' company and celebrating the end of a treacherous leader. She cherished the moment, for she knew that after today, things would be different. Soon she would take up her position as the new Guildmaster. It would be her responsibility to secure footholds in other cities and recruit new members. The thought was overwhelming, but she knew she wasn't alone. She had Delvin to help her, and Vex, and especially Brynjolf. Their relationship, too, was changing; and for now, they had decided to keep it to themselves. As supportive as their Guildmates were, they were also notorious gossips.

When the celebration came to an end, everyone stumbled back into the Cistern. While preparing her bed, Alora was approached by Karliah.

"I know now might not be the best time," she said, noting the glazed look in Alora's eyes. "But I need to ask you something."

"Hm?"

"Do you remember when I told you about the Twilight Sepulcher?"

"Of course."

"And how the Key needs to be returned in order for Nocturnal to realign herself with the Guild?"

Alora sighed; she knew all too well where this was headed. "You want me to bring it back?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid it's not that simple."

"It never is."

Karliah smiled wistfully. "I know. But if you do this, Alora, you can be sure that the Guild will regain stature in Skyrim."

"Why can't you do it?"

Her smile vanished. "I...I can't bear to face Nocturnal again. Not after I failed to guard the Key the first time."

"I understand," Alora said. "Where is the Sepulcher?"

"It's to the west, near Falkreath. But again, you won't be able to just walk right in. You'll have to travel what is known as the Pilgrim's Path."

"The Pilgrim's Path?"

"When Mercer stole the Key, our access to the inner sanctum was removed. Now the only way to bring it back is through the Pilgrim's Path...it was never intended for the Nightingales."

"Do you mean to say that you've never traveled it?"

"I'm afraid not," she said apologetically. "I wish I could tell you what you'll be facing."

Alora's lips tightened into a thin line. "Could Brynjolf come with me?"

Karliah shook her head. "I've already discussed this with him. He has to stay back to keep order while you're away."

_Of course he does._ "When should I be off, then?"

"It doesn't have to be immediate. Go whenever you're ready." Then, to Alora's surprise, the elf hugged her. "Thank you, Alora."

"It's an honor."

Karliah's smile returned, and her eyes glimmered mischievously. "I'd give it a day if I were you. I daresay Brynjolf would hate to see you leave so soon."

Alora glanced at the tall Nord, who was talking with Delvin near Mercer's old desk. Her lips curved upward in the tiniest of smiles. "Goodnight, Karliah."


	22. The Sentinel

**A/N: **Hey everyone. I don't really know what else to say up here, other than I'm sorry. I'm sorry that it's been so long, and I'm sorry that I didn't update when I said I would.

I know this chapter is short, but hopefully it will tide you over until I finish the next chapter, which is a very big chapter for miss Alora. I've already got it started, and there won't be a long wait. I promise. For real, this time.

Again, I'm sorry, and I hope the rest of Beyond the Shadows will have been worth the wait.

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><p>"Are you sure you can't come with me?"<p>

Brynjolf took Alora's face in his large hands. Her eyes, usually narrowed in suspicion, were now wide and full of pleading. "Aye, lass. I can't leave the Guild. Not now."

"But what about Delvin and Vex? Couldn't they-"

"Lass," he said firmly. "If there was any possible way for me to go, I would. You know that."

Alora placed her hand over his. "...I know."

He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "If anyone can brave the Pilgrim's Path and come out alive, it's you, Alora. You've survived so much as it is. I know you don't think so, but you've got guts. More guts than anyone else in the Guild, anyway."

"Why do you say that?"

"If you didn't, you would've left us a long time ago."

This surprised a laugh from her. "True."

Brynjolf tilted her chin upward and kissed her softly. "You'd best be on your way. I don't do well with goodbyes."

She looked up at him ruefully. "...I don't want to go."

They stared at each other in silence for several prolonged seconds. Brynjolf stroked the side of her head, taking hold of her braid and turning it over in his fingers. "I don't want you to go either."

"...but I have to."

"But you have to."

Alora sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his broad chest. "Be good."

He squeezed her tightly. "Be safe."

* * *

><p>The large stone doors of the Twilight Sepulcher greeted Alora with dark portent. Nervous energy shook her bones and curdled her blood. What trials awaited her inside this large, foreboding structure? Uncertainty overwhelmed her. Reaching back, she plucked an arrow from her quiver and notched it to her bowstring. Her breathing quickened as she pushed her way through the ancient doors and into the unknown space beyond.<p>

Inside, the Sepulcher was shockingly cold. Each breath she took was visible, and her exposed skin protested at being left unprotected. Her fingers curled around the bowstring so tightly that the hemp cut into her flesh, causing hot trails of blood to drip down her knuckles and onto the stone floor.

Ahead, she could see an ethereal blue light. With each cautious step, the light expanded until it resolved into the shape of a man.

"Gods," she breathed, hefting her bow.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said the spirit.

Alora reeled in bewilderment. "What? Who are you?"

"The last of the Nightingale Sentinels, I'm afraid." The spirit's voice was soft and low, yet unmistakeably male. He motioned for her to come closer. "Who are _you?_ I don't recognize you, though I sense that you are one of us."

"I am."

"What is your name?"

"...Alora."

"What brings you here, Alora?"

"I have the Skeleton Key." Reaching into her pack, she produced the jewel-encrusted lockpick.

The spirit's translucent eyes widened. "The Key! You have the Skeleton Key! I never thought I'd see it again!"

"I've come to return it."

"You are a blessing, Nightingale." Suddenly, his smile evaporated, as though it had never been there in the first place. "And what of Mercer Frey?"

"Dead." She furrowed her brow. "But how do you know of Mercer?"

"I was blinded. Blinded by dark treachery masquerading as friendship." A deep sadness resonated in his voice. "But I suppose it's over now, and my death wasn't in vain."

Alora gasped as realization dawned on her. "Are you...are you Gallus?"

The spirit seemed as surprised as she was. "I haven't heard that name in a long time..."

"Karliah has told me-"

"Karliah?! She's still alive?!"

"Very much so."

Pure joy radiated from Gallus's ghostly face. "This is a grand day indeed."

Alora smiled. "Yes. But if it's all the same to you, Gallus, I have to get moving. The Key must be returned."

"Of course," said Gallus, still beaming. "Be warned, however. The other Sentinels aren't...well, they aren't like me."

"I thought you said you were the last of the Sentinels?"

"I am. The others have been...corrupted."

"Corrupted?"

"When Mercer stole the Key, our ties to Nocturnal were severed. The other Sentinels are no longer themselves. Even now, I can feel myself slipping away. All these years without the restoration of my power have taken their toll."

"So I must proceed alone."

"I'm afraid so."

Alora sighed. "Do you have any idea what might be ahead?"

"I wish I could help you. I really do. But I've been a prisoner in this very chamber for the last quarter century. The only possible help I've come across are the remains of some poor fellow who was trying to follow in your footsteps." He pointed toward the western end of the chamber. "Perhaps his journal can help?"

"I'll have a look."

"Very well." Gallus reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, though she felt nothing. "Good luck. I owe you a great deal, Nightingale."


	23. The Pilgrim's Path

**A/N: **I really hate asking for reviews, but this time, I'm going to ask. Even if you never review another chapter, please review this one. I worked so hard on it. I cried while writing it. It would mean the absolute world to me if you could tell me what you think. The honest-to-Talos truth.

Thank you, and I hope you enjoy.

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><p>"God sakes, Bryn. She'll be alright. Stop lookin' so miserable."<p>

Brynjolf sighed and picked at his dinner. "I'm sorry, I just—I can't shake this feeling. Something will go wrong, Del. I know it."

"Naw, you're just overthinkin' it—"

"After all she's been through, you don't have the slightest suspicion that she could get hurt, or even...killed?" He spat the word out as thought it were poison on his tongue.

Delvin shrugged. "Actually, no."

"And why would that be?"

"You said it yourself, Bryn. She's been through a lot. But she survived_ all_ of it. Our little infiltrator has Lady Luck on her side." He sipped his drink. "You'll see."

"Delvin's right, Brynjolf," Karliah called from across the Flagon. "I can't say that she won't get hurt, but she'll make it out alive."

"Comforting. Remind me again why I didn't go with her?"

"Because your place is _here,_" said Delvin. "The Guild's in an uproar. We have to clean up the mess Mercer left."

"She shouldn't have gone alone," Brynjolf insisted. His eyes drifted across the Flagon and came to rest on Karliah. An idea sprung to mind, but would she go along with it? "Karliah?"

"Yes?"

"Come here for a minute."

The elf slipped out of her chair and fell in beside the two men. "I know what you're going to say," she said, folding her arms. "And I'd like you to think twice before doing so."

"Karliah," Brynjolf began. "I know what I'm about to ask is no small favor. I know it's the last thing in Tamriel you'd ever want to do."

"I—"

"Hear me out. Look, you're the only one here, aside from me, who has access to the Sepulcher. If anything happens to Alora, no one else will be able to get to her. No one but you." He struggled to keep his voice even. "Will you follow her?"

She turned from him."I can't face Nocturnal." Deep sorrow echoed in her words. "I can't. I failed to defend the Key. No one seems to get how serious that is."

He sighed. "You know that if I could ask anyone else, I would."

"Brynjolf..."

"Please, Karliah."

The elf met his gaze with eyes like flickering red coals. "You really love her, don't you?"

"Of course he does," said Delvin around a mouthful of stew. "If you don't see that then you're blind, or just an idiot—"

"Shut up, Del," Vex snapped from her seat at the bar. "Quit being an ass."

"Aw, Vexy, don't act like I'm not right." He chuckled and disappeared into his tankard.

Brynjolf smiled, but it was fleeting. It was there, and then it was gone. His face became vacant. Then, slowly, despair began to settle over his features. The light in his eyes had been snuffed; the irises were dark windows, empty and haunted.

Karliah covered his hand with her own. "What is it, Brynjolf?" She asked softly.

"I've just realized...I haven't told her."

"Told her..."

"That I love her." He took a swig of mead. "She left and I didn't tell her."

"Well..." Karliah breathed deeply and rose from her chair. "I'll see that you get the chance."

Brynjolf's eyes snapped upward. "Truly? Karliah, I—"

She waved a hand, cutting him off. "No. You're right; she shouldn't have gone alone. And...maybe it _is _time I faced Nocturnal. It's nothing compared to what she's dealing with."

"Thanks for the thought."

Karliah smiled. "Sorry. Honestly, though, try not to worry. I'll find her."

"Wait." Vex hopped off the barstool. "I'll come with you."

"Are you serious?" Brynjolf eyed her suspiciously. Of all people, Vex? He never would have chosen her to accompany Karliah. As far as he knew, she had no love for Alora, especially after her success with the Goldenglow job.

Vex smiled crookedly. "Yeah, why not?"

"That would be nice, actually," said Karliah. "I might need an extra pair of hands."

Delvin gave a snort. "Well isn't this just precious?" Vex punched him in the arm, doubling his laughter. "Oh, bring her back, would ya? I miss Swiftknife. She _appreciates_ a good joke."

"We will." Karliah turned to Brynjolf. "When did she leave?"

"This morning."

"We'd better get going, then."

"Good idea." Brynjolf gripped her hand warmly. "Thank you, Karliah."

* * *

><p>The hallway was long, winding, and rank with the smell of mildew. Alora's footsteps were slow and deliberate. The journal Gallus had pointed out was brimming with riddles and only left her feeling even more apprehensive, if that were possible. All she knew for certain was that there were five trials ahead, each one more difficult than the last.<p>

No other mission had left her quite as unnerved as this one. Not Goldenglow, not Honningbrew, not even coming face-to-face with Mercer at Irkngthand. There was much more at stake here. The future of the Guild literally rested in her hands. Without Nocturnal's favor, they were doomed to decline until they perished forever.

She continued along the torch-lined walls until the path ended at an intricate iron door. According to the journal, this marked the first of the five trials; the beginning of the Pilgrim's Path.

Cold settled into her bones.

As she placed a trembling hand on the door, she felt her body lurch. Dashing to the nearest burial urn, she heaved until the contents of her stomach had been emptied into it.

"Damn it," she muttered, wiping at her mouth. _Pull yourself together, Swiftknife._

Sitting on the filthy stone floor, she shrugged off her pack and procured a Potion of Healing. She wasn't injured, but throughout her adventures over the years, she found that the bright pink liquid not only helped eliminate pain, but strengthened her resolve as well. Ripping out the cork with her teeth, she downed the potion and rose with renewed verve.

_For the Guild. _Inhaling deeply, she pushed open the door.

A wide, stone staircase sprawled in front of her. Two tallow candles on either side of the room were the only source of light. She squinted, her heart pounding furiously against her ribcage. Faintly she could see tapestries bearing the Nightingale sigil hanging on the walls. Nocking an arrow, she descended with silent footfalls.

When Alora reached the bottom of the staircase, a spine-chilling voice suffused the air. _"Does someone live among the dead?"_

She froze with bated breath and swept her eyes over the room, searching for the slightest flicker of motion.

An unearthly violet light entered her vision, pacing back and forth as though searching. With one swift movement she shot the spirit down. It collapsed into an ectoplasmic puddle.

She exhaled. Slinging her bow across her back, she pulled the journal from her pack and bent under the light of a candle.

"_Shadows of their former selves, sentinels of the dark. They wander ever more and deal swift death to defilers..._" The answer was obvious to her now. "The corrupt Sentinels. Just like Gallus said." Cursing her idiocy, she tucked the book away and nocked another arrow.

Rounding the next corner, she tugged on the bowstring ever so slightly, ready to shoot at the first hint of movement. When it came, she fired without hesitation. Two more Sentinels fell to her arrows.

_Where would I be without archery? _She wondered, cleaning plasma off her arrows and depositing them back into her quiver.

When the hallway came to an end, she was relieved to see that it spilled into a well-lit room and led her to another iron door: the start of the second trial. She shut her eyes and exhaled slowly. _One down, four to go. _

The next room was difficult to make out. Certain areas were washed with light, but most of it was drenched in darkness. She could distinguish that the space was fairly large, jumbled with raised platforms leading to what she could only assume was door to the third trial. Without thinking, she stepped into the light.

All of a sudden, a fierce, blistering heat scorched through her armor until it was speckled with holes, searing through flesh and leaving bright pink burns in its wake. She cried out and brought her hands to the exposed skin of her face, feeling salty tears blend with the newly formed lacerations on her cheeks, forehead, and jaw. She reeled in horror as her hands came away bloody and stumbled back into the darkness. The pain in her face was so intense that her whole body racked with she searched through her pack for a flask of water. When she found it, her trembling fingers uncorked the bottle and dumped its contents over the burns. Her arms, legs, stomach, and chest had not escaped the light's blazing touch, but her Nightingale armor—or what was left of it—had protected her enough so that she avoided getting too badly hurt.

The cloying smell of corroded flesh filled the air. She doubled over and would have been sick, had her stomach not been empty. She sat on the floor and brought her knees to her chest, slowly rocking back and forth. One hand held her lower abdomen; the other dug into her bag for one of her precious health potions. As the warm liquid passed her lips she felt the pain in her face greatly lessened. As for the rest of her body, the pain was barely discernible. She sighed in relief, taking deep breaths to calm her tears and the shaking in her limbs.

Her legs wobbled as she stood, but they held, and if they held, then she could move. Taking the hint to _not_ walk in the light, she moved slowly through the dark, inching her way along the walls of the cavern. She kept an eye out for pressure plates, sidestepping traps and otherwise taking great pains to avoid further injury.

When she reached the third door, she nocked another arrow and pushed her way inside. The hallway haunted her with memories of Snow Veil Sanctum; candle-lit, lined with coffins, and seemingly untouched for hundreds of years. She kept expecting draugr to pop out of the walls, but none did. No Sentinels, either. The suspicious lack of enemies made her heart patter nervously.

At last, the hallway opened up into a small room. At its center stood a tall statue of Lady Nocturnal, black as ebony and splashed with firelight. An altar rested at her feet. Flowers, precious stones, and soul gem fragments had been placed atop the structure.

Confused, she procured the journal and re-read the clue pertaining to the third trial.

_"Offer what she desires most, but reject the material. For her greatest want is that which cannot be seen, felt or carried."_

She pondered the conundrum. "'Offer what she desires most..." she whispered aloud. "'She' is Nocturnal, obviously...but 'reject the material?' What does that mean?"

Putting the journal away, she surveyed her surroundings. A protuberance in the ground probed her curiosity. Peering behind the statue, she jerked in bewilderment. The lifeless body of what appeared to be a common bandit lay face-down on the floor.

"Well, clearly what he had to offer wasn't what she desired most." Alora crouched before the altar and turned a gemstone over in her fingers. "'Reject the material...'" Glancing from the bandit to the gem and back again, realization dawned on her. "He offered this to Nocturnal, and she rejected it, because...it's _material_."

Pocketing the gemstone, she began to pace back and forth. "What _is_ it that you want?" She asked the statue, half-hoping it would answer her. "Oh, I wish Karliah were here...could've figured this out in five seconds..." The gleam of silver caught her eye. Intrigued, she approached it and discovered a hidden pull chain dangling from the wall.

"Could this be it?" she wondered. "It can't hurt to try...or maybe it can." In her experience, pull chains had only ever opened doors or released traps. This one could do either. And while she did not revere the idea of getting shot in the face with a poison dart, she also did not see another way out.

_Here goes nothing._ She prepared her feet to jump, should anything come firing out of the walls, and gave the chain a tug. At her pull, one of the two fires lighting the statue doused itself.

She released her pent-up breath. "O-_kay_..." The clue played over again in her mind. "'Cannot be seen, felt, or carried..._what_ cannot be seen, felt, or carried? Air?" She walked over to the other side of the statue and discovered another chain. Pulling it down, the second fire went out, leaving the room soaked in shadow.

The sound of stone scraping against stone washed over her ears; the wall behind the statue had given way, revealing the next path. "Not air," she said, grinning. "Darkness."

Proud of her accomplishment, she slipped behind the statue and through the opening. _Two more to go._

She knew what the next trial was before she saw it; in the distance, she could hear steel swiping stone, back and forth, back and forth. She had encountered similar traps within bandit encampments. There would be one hallway leading to the next door, and between her and that door would be an unprecedented amount axes swinging from the ceiling.

Sure enough, at the end of the hallway, her suspicions were confirmed. Half a dozen axes barricaded her from the path to the fifth and final door, swaying in unison.

Quickly she thumbed through the journal, hoping to find something—_anything_—that would give her a way around the lethal blades.

"_Direct and yet indirect," _it said._ "The path to salvation a route of cunning with fortune betraying the foolish."_

"The path to salvation...a route of cunning," she said aloud. "The path to salvation..."

Since she could hardly see, Alora felt her way along the walls, searching for a hidden lever, a loose candlestick, anything that might betray a hidden route. Nothing unusual passed under her hands. A lone torch flickered in the corner of her vision, taunting, beckoning.

She breathed deeply. _For the Guild._ Reaching out, she pulled the torch from its sconce, flinching as the heat licked its way up her arms and stroked her face. The burns flared up in protest. Doing her best to ignore the pain, she began searching the walls once more, holding the fire as far away from her as possible.

Shadows dripped down the walls as torchlight passed over them. Her eyes were calculating, darting back and forth across the room until they finally came to rest on what she had been hoping to find: a crevice, barely wide enough to fit through. It was undoubtedly the path to salvation. Her muscles relaxed as she placed the torch back in its sconce.

With her bow slung on her back, she made her way through the crevice, shuffling sideways to save space. The opening was so tight that she had to suck in her stomach to get through. She grumbled when she heard her bow scrape against the rock walls.

Finally, she stumbled out of the crevice and into what appeared to be a large dining hall. _For what purpose? _She wondered, unslinging her bow and assessing the damage. A couple of scrapes and scratches on the glass, nothing irreparable. Still, it was her bow, and she hated that any harm had come to it.

She had a sinking feeling about the room, though she could not figure out why. Her feet moved slowly across the floor. _Something isn't right__..._

A sudden blaze of violet light flashed across her line of sight. She shot and struck true, but it was a moment too late. The Sentinel also had a bow, and its arrow had impaled her right calf.

An anguished cry tore from her lips as she fell, her bow clattering to the ground. So savage was her scream that her voice cracked and bounced off the walls. Tears erupted from her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, mingling with the burns. A fierce, smoldering sensation radiated from where the arrow had pierced her, lacing through her veins and boiling her blood. The pain was more torturous than anything she had ever felt. It reminded her of when Karliah had shot her—

_Poison._

She groaned in agony as the venomous liquid wormed its way through her body. Her veins were on fire; she was fire. Her body began to convulse; shuddering violently, every beat of her heart sending a fresh wave of pain. Black spots danced in her eyes.

When the convulsions finally stopped, she lay in silence, her ragged cheek resting on the cold stone floor. The tears kept flowing, trickling down her face and dripping off the bridge of her nose. All will to continue had since disappeared. She shut her eyes, willing death to come.

"_If anyone can brave the Pilgrim's Path and come out alive, it's you, Alora."_ Brynjolf's words echoed in her head. _"You've survived so much as it is."_

This drew a weak sob from her. _I failed you. I failed all of you._

Next, she heard Mercer's drawl, his cackling face swimming to the forefront of her mind. _"Foolish girl. Don't you understand? You've already lost."_

Her sob faded into a groan, and suddenly she found herself bawling with not only pain, but anger. "No..." she mumbled, her voice too broken to speak in more than a whisper. "No!" She heaved herself onto her back with a grunt. As she did so, she heard the sound of broken glass shifting in her pack. Gritting her teeth, she clenched her abdominal muscles tightly and pulled herself into a sitting position. She could not let Mercer win. She would keep fighting, even if it killed her.

_And it just might_. She examined her calf, drawing her dagger and carefully cutting off what was left of her leather pant leg. Blood welled around the place where the arrow had struck. The shaft was violet, like the Sentinel, and throbbing with otherworldly energy. There was nothing she could do; she had no medical training, and pulling the arrow out of her leg seemed far too painful for her to even consider.

She shrugged her quiver off her shoulders, followed by her pack. The fabric was ruined. Warm liquid—what had been her last healing potion—seeped through the bottom. Not that it would have done any good. Her wounds were beyond the healing properties of potions.

Her bow lay nearby. There would be no use for it now. She could not hope to carry it, let alone shoot it. She reached for the weapon and turned it over in her hands, marveling at the curved glass and running her thumb over its intricate carvings. How many years had she spent with this bow? How many times had it saved her life? A low cry escaped her, fresh tears flowing from her eyes. This bow was more than just a weapon; it was her companion. Now she would have to leave it behind.

With utmost reluctance, she placed her bow on the ground next to her pack and quiver. Her fingers lingered on the glass for several moments. _Goodbye, old friend._

And, with the Key clamped between her teeth, Alora began to crawl.


	24. The Flight

**A/N: **Thank you so much to everyone that reviewed last chapter, and for continuing to read even though I've taken forever to update. Can you believe it's almost been a year since I started?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and thank you for your continued support.

* * *

><p>Three days of nothing but the thump of horses' hooves, shoddy inns, and Vex's company were enough to drive Karliah insane. The idea of reaching their destination brought her no comfort, either. For the umpteenth time she cursed Brynjolf. He had been nothing but bitter toward her ever since she sent Alora to return the Key, and then he had the nerve to send her off to face her greatest failure?<p>

Still, she couldn't pretend that his actions were without reason. He was in love. She, of all people, could understand that. When Gallus fell to Mercer's hand, she never quite returned to herself. Even now, twenty-five years later, she found herself longing for the touch of his hand, the scent of his skin, the warmth of his voice. His patience as he taught her the healer's craft. The brush of his lips against her neck.

She shut her eyes tightly. Brynjolf was her friend, and no matter what, she would not let him feel the sting of grief that she felt day after day. All personal fears had to be set aside. Alora was the one who faced the Pilgrim's Path, not her. What right did she have to be afraid? For all she knew, Alora had already succeeded and Nocturnal's anger toward Karliah had been lifted. If Alora failed...she didn't want to think about that. Not only would Nocturnal be angry, but Karliah would have lost a friend, Brynjolf a lover, and the Guild its Master. No, Alora could not fail. Maybe there was cause for fear.

As time progressed, she watched the snow-laden hills fade into green forests. Karliah breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of pine needles and wood smoke. They had reached Falkreath hold. The Twilight Sepulcher would not be far off. She half-hoped, half-dreamed that they would meet Alora on the road and all worries would be erased.

"Is that it up there?" Vex's voice shook her from her reverie.

Karliah's eyes were met with a large stone door, cut into the base of the Jerall Mountains and bearing the Nightingale sigil. "Yes!"

Alora's own horse—presumably stolen—was picketed outside the door, grazing on a tuft of grass. "She's still inside," Karliah observed, bringing her horse to a stop. "At least that's certain. Whether or not she's _alive_, though..." She dismounted. "Is another matter entirely."

Vex followed suit, wincing as her legs struck ground. "She's probably fine. You know how Brynjolf gets. All he wanted was for his mind to be at peace."

"Maybe so, but I can't help but feel that something isn't right."

Her Imperial companion snorted. "You're both idiots."

Karliah took the insult in silence. After all, it was Vex. Coming from her it was almost a compliment.

After a few moments of rest, Vex spoke. "Well, are we going in or what?"

"I am. You're not."

A frown creased her brow. "What—why?"

"You're not a Nightingale," Karliah explained. "Only those with the title have access to the inner sanctum. You'll have to wait outside."

"You're joking, right?"

Karliah's eyes flashed dangerously. "I don't _joke_ about anything to do with Nocturnal, the Nightingales, or my allegiance to either. You'd do well to remember that." She hefted her bow. "I'm going alone, and you will wait here."

There were two things that annoyed Vex more than anything else; Delvin, and being told what to do. She had been known to leave bruises on those who tried ordering her about. That she now remained silent showed Karliah that Vex had just realized how serious their mission was.

Karliah drew up her hood. "I'll return soon." She was about to say "with Alora," but she couldn't be certain that was true.

* * *

><p>There was one piece of information that Karliah had neglected to tell Vex: if Alora died or otherwise failed to return the Key, even a Nightingale would not have access to the inner sanctum. If that were the case, Karliah would be forced to trek the Pilgrim's Path in the hopes of finding Alora.<p>

So, when she went inside and found the entrance to the sanctum unsealed, her heart skipped a beat. Alora had succeeded. But where was she?

Bracing herself, Karliah pushed open the door.

The room itself was small, quiet, and dark. Eerie violet light splashed the walls, its source indiscernible. In the center of the room sat the famed Ebonmere Lock. With the Key in place, the lock had expanded and transformed into a crystalline pool—Nocturnal's portal to the Evergloam. This is where all Nightingales ended up once their debts had been paid and earthly lives spent. Karliah traced the water with her fingers, wondering if Gallus was there and when she might be able to finally join him.

"Do not get any ideas. Your contract is not yet satisfied."

The voice was female; deep, and cold. It reminded Karliah of shadows on the moon, and yet it carried a soft jingle, like the sound of Septims clinking in a coinpurse. Shifting her gaze upward, Karliah beheld the black gaze of Nocturnal. The Daedra had flawless pearl-white skin, sharply contrasting her hair, blacker than the void itself. Her frame was adorned with a violet robe, slit on both sides. On each of her outstretched arms sat a nightingale bird.

Falling to one knee, Karliah bowed her head. "Apologies, my Lady."

"Yes, well. Apologies won't get you very far, will they?" She narrowed her eyes. "In any case, I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

Karliah lifted her head. "My Lady?"

Nocturnal gestured to the opposite side of the pool. There, on the floor, Karliah saw a slender white hand, its fingers slightly curled.

"Alora?" Karliah jumped to her feet and rushed to her fellow Nightingale's side. A gasp escaped her lips as she took in the sight of Alora's mangled body. Her armor was destroyed, speckled with holes both small and large. Bright red abrasions covered her arms and legs, but were most severe on the unprotected skin of her face. Worst of all was her right leg—stretched out awkwardly and stained with blood. Karliah turned it over and was alarmed to find a pulsating violet arrow protruding from the meat of her calf. "This is all my fault," Karliah murmured, her throat tight. "Oh, what's Brynjolf going to say?"

"Hush, child," Nocturnal snapped. "This little bird yet lives, I made sure of that."

Hope surged through Karliah. Cradling Alora's head in her lap, she drew her dagger and placed the flat of the blade under Alora's nose. Faint traces of breath spread across the steel. "Oh, thank you, Lady."

"Do not thank me. I did not keep her alive for _your_ benefit."

"Of course, my Lady."

Nocturnal smirked. "Still, you had best put that healer's touch to good use. It would be most..._unfortunate_, if I were to lose someone of such value."

"Understood." Then a thought struck her. "My Lady, if I might ask a favor?"

The Daedra chuckled. "You are hardly in a position to ask _me _for favors. But go on."

Karliah blushed in shame. "It's just that—her injuries are beyond the work of one mage. I'll need help. If I could get her to Falkreath, she might stand a chance."

"Spare me the details. What is it that you want?"

"I can't carry her out of here alone. Would you permit my, er, friend, access to the inner sanctum so she can help me?"

"Oh, that will not be necessary," Nocturnal drawled. "I think you will find that luck is on your side." And, cackling, she vanished in a flash of violet light.

Karliah swore and returned to the problem at hand. Taking her dagger, she began cutting away the shaft of the arrow, thankful that Alora was unconscious rather than awake. Removing an arrow was tricky business, and judging by the blackened veins around the wound, this arrow had been tipped with some sort of poison.

She worked furiously at the shaft, sawing through whatever strange plasmic material the arrow was made out of. Finally, after several minutes, she broke off the side with the fletching. Then, carefully grasping the arrowhead, she pulled the rest of it out.

Almost immediately, the wound began to bleed profusely. Karliah wrapped her calf in bandages and placed a healing enchantment on it, hoping that it would be enough until they got to Falkreath.

Just as the glow of magic faded from her fingers, a second voice cracked the silence.

"I see you've remembered what I taught you."

Karliah froze. Even after twenty-five years, she _knew_ that voice. Standing up, she turned around to face him.

"Gallus," She breathed.

His pale lips twisted into a crooked smile. "I was glad to hear that you were alive, and well." His words echoed through the sanctum, soft and haunting.

Karliah stepped closer, fear and elation coursing through her. "I feared I would never see you again. I...thought you'd become like the others."

"I would have, if it were not for this Nightingale." He nodded to Alora's unconscious form. "She honors me. She honors us all."

"That she does, my love." Karliah bit her lip, feeling tears prick her eyes. "What will you do now that the Key is safe?"

"Nocturnal calls me to the Evergloam. My contract has been fulfilled."

"I thought as much." She forced the tears back. If there was one thing Karliah _never_ did, it was cry, and she was not about to start. "Will I ever see you again?"

He nodded. "When your debt to Nocturnal has been paid, we'll embrace once again."

"Until that day, then," she whispered.

"Goodbye, Karliah." He looked at her with mournful, transparent eyes. Then he cupped her face and kissed her, though she felt nothing but a cold breeze. "I'll think of you always."

"As will I, Gallus. Walk with the shadows."

Again, he smiled that damned crooked smile—the one she loved so much. Then he climbed atop the stone pool and fell into the depths of the Evergloam, to roam forevermore.

For several seconds, she stared into the pulsing waters. Unconsciously she ran a finger over her lips; they were cold as ice. "We'll meet again," she whispered to herself.

Straightening up, she faced Alora once more. "And just how am I going to get you out of here?" A sense of urgency washed over her. She had to get Alora out, and fast.

After several failed attempts to pick up the taller girl, the glint of a bottle caught Karliah's eye. There, on a table, sat a bright orange Potion of Strength. She thanked Nocturnal and downed the cool liquid. In one fell swoop, she hoisted Alora over one shoulder and hauled her out of the Sepulcher.

Outside, it was raining. Vex stood under the protective leaves of an oak tree. When she caught sight of the wavering elf, she rushed to help support the weight of Alora's robust form.

"Gods," Vex muttered. "What happened to her?"

"I don't know, but we have to get her to Falkreath, and fast. Help me get her onto my horse."

For several minutes the two struggled to sit Alora atop the lumbering animal. Karliah set Alora's stolen horse free, and wrapped her own cloak around the Nord's shoulders. Finally, the women mounted their horses and set off for Falkreath.

Karliah braced herself against the onslaught of rain as they rode, Alora's head bobbing against her chest.

_Nocturnal, get us through this_.

* * *

><p>Their arrival at the Falkreath inn hadn't exactly been quiet. A soaking wet Dunmer and her scowling companion, carrying a burnt and bloodied Nord who would have appeared dead to any passerby—that was wont for attention.<p>

For once, Karliah was grateful for Vex's salty attitude. She snapped orders to the innkeeper, calling for a clean room, hot water, bandages, and any healers the town had to offer. Immediately servants were sent to the temple to retrieve healers, and the three thieves were shown to a room by the innkeeper herself.

"I need to know: is she alive?" The innkeeper inquired, looking rather harried.

"We wouldn't be barking for healers if she were dead, now would we?" Vex snarled.

"Don't mind her," Karliah muttered as they placed Alora's body on the bed. "She is alive, but barely. I have some healing skills of my own, but it won't be enough. Any help you can offer us would be much appreciated." At the innkeeper's stern glance, Karliah added, "And well compensated."

"Very well, and thank you. What can I get for you?"

Karliah scribbled down a list of ingredients she needed to make a poultice for the burns. When the innkeeper left, Karliah set a pot of water over the fire to boil.

"Help me cut off the rest of her armor," Karliah told Vex. "There's no use trying to save it."

While the two set to work on the ruined leather, the innkeeper returned, followed by a servant and three temple healers.

"If you need anything else, let me know," said the innkeeper, and she was gone.

The next several hours passed quickly for Karliah. While she and the healers set to work on Alora's wounds, Vex was grinding herbs—a task she took on with great displeasure, and she made sure that everyone knew it. Once she finished, Karliah sent her to go harass someone else.

_Time to put my alchemical skills to use._ Karliah pushed her sleeves up to the elbows and measured out the ingredients necessary to make Alora's burn poultice. It was an old recipe that Gallus had taught her long ago; a careful mixture of Healing and Fire Resist potions, set off by a few key ingredients to tie it all together.

After ten minutes of chopping, pouring, and stirring, Karliah had the poultice brewed up and ready to go. It resembled a thick gray sludge and smelled awful, which, according to Gallus, was exactly how it should be.

Nearly every square inch of Alora's body had to receive the poultice. (Later that night, Karliah would apologize profusely to the innkeeper for ruining her sheets and promise additional payment for the inconvenience.) The final key to the poultice's success was restoration magic, to be applied directly afterward.

While the healers worked on the burns, Karliah started unwrapping the bandages on Alora's calf. The wound was still bleeding, but had started to clot. The poison, it seemed, had not spread much farther. Still, she had to work quickly before it reached her heart. Uncorking a Resist Poison potion, Karliah poured a bit of the liquid onto a rag and daubed at the wound.

"It won't be enough," one of the healers commented. "She has to drink it."

So the four healers sat Alora up and tipped the potion down her throat, bit by bit so she would not choke. The difference in her leg was instant. Veins once black were returning to their normal color. Now all that was left was to heal the damage inside her calf, and stitch up the gaping holes the arrow had left. Both tasks were complete in a matter of minutes.

Finally, when the sun slipped below the horizon, the healers' work was done. Karliah thanked them and would have proffered payment, but they refused any form of compensation. Alora lay, stitched, bandaged, and naked, under a thin blanket. Karliah sank into a chair, completely drained.

Just as she started to fall asleep, Vex returned. "Did you know that this inn is called 'Dead Man's Drink?'"

Karliah yawned. "What?"

Vex took the seat opposite Karliah. "The inn. It's called 'Dead Man's Drink.' Kind of ironic, if you think about it."

Karliah gaped. "What would possess you to make such a comment?"

"It was just a joke."

"Well, it wasn't funny. At all."

"Damn. Lighten up, would ya?"

Karliah glared at her. "Don't tell me to 'lighten up.' If you had _any_ idea what I've been through today—"

"I know, that's why I brought you this." Vex slid a mug of Black-Briar mead across the table.

Karliah took the cup and brought it to her lips. "Oh. Thank you, Vex...this does help."

"You know what Delvin says. 'If it can't be solved with mead, it's a problem indeed.'"

That drew a hoarse laugh from Karliah. "I'll have to tell him he's right when we get home."

Vex glanced at her unconscious counterpart. "So...how is she?"

"As good as can be expected, I think."

"Her breathing's deepened."

"That happened after we stopped the poison. It's strange; it seems as though I could wake her with a simple touch, yet she slumbers on."

Vex sipped her drink. "And what of the burns?"

"We were able to fully heal the ones on her body; her armor provided some protection. As for the ones on her _face_..." Karliah sighed. "Her skin was fully exposed to whatever burned her. We were able to heal them, but she will always have scars."

"I don't think she'll mind. Swiftknife isn't particularly vain."

"No, but..." Karliah took a long draught. "I feel guilty. None of this would've happened if I hadn't been such a damn coward."

"Yeah, well, ya live and learn, right?" Vex chuckled and polished off her mead. "I'm going to send word to Brynjolf. What should I tell him?"

Karliah fingered the handle of her tankard. "Tell him...tell him that she is alive, she succeeded, and we are bringing her home. Forget the details. You know how he gets. Besides," she placed a hand on Alora's brow. "We've done all we can. Now all that's left to do is hope she wakes up."


	25. The Homecoming

**A/N: **This chapter is slightly longer than normal. I didn't want to split it up, so I hope you guys don't mind!

Thanks again for your support. :)

* * *

><p>The carriage ride home was long and bumpy. Vex complained throughout most of it, but Karliah was too tired to care. Her bones ached from days of sitting on an uncomfortable wooden seat, Alora's head resting on her lap. Sleep had not touched her eyes since their night in Falkreath. Exhaustion clouded her vision, and shadows darkened her skin. How Vex could remain her usual sardonic self was beyond Karliah's comprehension.<p>

But Vex worried too, Karliah could tell. Whenever Alora stirred, Vex would jolt upright, only to be disappointed. She would then slouch and cross her arms, brows pushed together in frustration. Vex wanted Alora to wake, if only for Brynjolf's sake. Or perhaps she had grown fond of their future Guildmaster after all. Even if that were true, Vex would never admit it, and Karliah was not about to ask.

A light breeze ruffled the blankets draped over Alora. Karliah tucked the fabric firmly around her leaden form, hoping to keep her as warm as possible. The innkeeper at Falkreath had graciously supplied them with a spare set of clothing, given that Alora's cuirass and greaves were in a dreadful state of disrepair and she had nothing else to wear. The salvaged bits of her Nightingale armor were now packed in Karliah's bag. Though it would be impossible for Alora to ever wear it again, she didn't think it appropriate to dispose of the set. If Alora wished to throw it away, then she could do it herself. It was not Karliah's choice to make.

The carriage hit a rather large rock then, causing Vex to nearly fall off her seat. "Watch it!" she snapped at the driver. "We've got fragile cargo back here."

Karliah placed her palm on Alora's brow, silent in her agreement.

"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but roads in the Rift are 'specially rugged. Comes from all the rain, you see," said the driver.

Karliah's face brightened. "We're nearly home, then?"

"Yeah, I'd say so," the driver replied. "Another day, give or take."

Vex looked at Karliah, and when she spoke, her voice conveyed a sincerity that Karliah had not thought her capable of. "Do you think she'll wake before we get back?"

Karliah brushed a strand of hair from Alora's face. "She looks better by the day, but I do not know."

Vex clamped her hands together and watched Alora with vacant eyes. The fact that she couldn't _do_ anything to help bothered Vex deeply. Karliah knew, because she felt the same way. All they could do was wait, and hope.

Another night passed. Karliah sat uncomfortably, elbow propped and supporting her head. Vex was asleep, stretched out on the opposite bench, her arm dangling over the edge. One bump in the road and surely she would tumble right off. Karliah smiled, imagining Vex flailing on the floor of the carriage, screaming obscenities at the driver for something that wasn't his fault.

A yawn passed Karliah's lips. Her eyelids began to droop, and suddenly the weight of three sleepless nights crashed down on her. Dawn was close, the frozen stars were melting; but Riften would be upon them soon, and a few hours' rest would do her good. Slowly her body succumbed to sleep.

In what felt like mere seconds later, Karliah felt herself being shaken awake. "Karliah! _Karliah!_ Wake up, damn it!"

"Whaddayouwan?" Karliah grumbled. Her eyes were bleary when she opened them. She blinked several times, and Vex's face swam into view. "Are we home?"

"It's Swiftknife," Vex urged. "Something's wrong."

The nervous edge in Vex's voice snapped Karliah out of her trance. Something was indeed wrong—Alora's breathing had become labored. Callused fingers curled and uncurled, and every so often, her legs would twitch.

She appeared to be suffering from a nightmare, and though Karliah doubted that was the case, she resolved to treat her as though it were true. Gently she stroked Alora's hair, instructing Vex to soak a rag with the water flask. She did so without question, and Karliah was grateful.

For several minutes Karliah dampened Alora's forehead with the cool rag, murmuring reassurances as if this were her child and she a mother. Vex held down her legs to stop them convulsing. Eventually, Alora's breathing began to slow, and Karliah sighed in relief.

Then, to her astonishment, Alora's eyes fluttered open.

* * *

><p>Brynjolf was tense.<p>

Karliah and Vex were taking far longer to return than he had anticipated. In an effort to free his mind from worry, he had taken it upon himself to re-establish the Guild's footholds in all of Skyrim's major cities. Brynjolf was amazed at how many distinguished clients were knocking on their door, asking for services and promising influence in return.

In Alora's absence, Brynjolf had managed to commission a weighty contract in Windhelm. Torsten Cruel-Sea, head of one of Skyrim's most prominent families, had requested the Guild's help in retrieving a valuable family heirloom. The heirloom had been stolen by a rival guild of Altmer—_after_ they had murdered Torsten's daughter, Fjotli, to get it.

"The way I see it, you retrieve our family locket, and take out a rival guild in the process," Torsten's letter had said. "If you agree to this task, I will ensure that the Guild has leverage in Windhelm once again."

The best person for the job, Brynjolf realized, would have been Alora. She was a fine archer and did not hesitate to kill if necessary. But since he could not send her, he asked Niruin to do it instead. He, too, was competent with a bow, though his stance on killing was far more lax than Alora's. It had taken much prodding and bribery, but eventually the elf agreed to complete the job. He returned soon after Karliah and Vex left, bearing a fat coinpurse and new footing in Windhelm.

After Niruin's success, the Guild was busier than it had been since Gallus's days as Guildmaster. Delvin was drowning in contracts, issuing them out like free sweetrolls. Once or twice Brynjolf caught the old Breton cursing Vex under his breath for leaving him with all the work.

"We can't keep up with all these contracts, boss," Delvin had said. "The Guild needs more recruits."

"Are you complaining about that?" Brynjolf joked.

Delvin grinned wolfishly. "Not at all, Bryn. Not at all."

But Brynjolf heeded Delvin's words, and set out to survey the streets of Riften. He re-opened his stall, sold phony elixirs to the gullible, and kept an eye out for sneak thieves. Within the week or so that Alora had been gone, he managed to reel in two new recruits: a snarky Breton woman named Yannic and a young Imperial man called Natch Foxfeet. Both newcomers were adequate thieves, but there was much room for improvement. Brynjolf sought out his top trainers to show them the ropes and hone their skills.

And yet, throughout all of the excitement, his mind always wandered back to Alora.

It was easier to avoid thinking of her during the day, when there was work to be done. But at night, his mind refused to calm, and it showed. Dark circles spread under his eyes, and once or twice he dozed off while working. His worry over Alora, combined with the sudden run of success in the Guild, was becoming too much for Brynjolf to handle.

One morning at breakfast, he found himself praying to the Dark Lady for peace of mind.

"What're you muttering about?" Delvin wanted to know, taking a seat across from his friend.

"Not now, Del," Brynjolf snapped. "Don't you have a bath to take?"

"Ouch," said Delvin, his lips quirking in a smile. "That cuts me deep, boss. Real deep."

Brynjolf sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just—"

"I know," came the reply. "The work is taxin' all of us."

"There's so much that has to be done, Del," said Brynjolf, rubbing his temples. "We need more recruits; the two I fished out won't be enough. Then there's the matter of dipping our toes into the other major cities. And Alora's coronation..."

"Assuming she's alive."

Brynjolf shot him a poisonous glare. "Talk like that again and I'll make _you_ train the recruits."

"Message received." Delvin took a swig of watered-down ale. "Have you told everyone?"

"Told everyone what?"

"That Swiftknife's to be our new Master, o' course."

"I hadn't even thought about that, with all that's been going on," Brynjolf admitted. "D'you think I should—"

But before he could finish his thought, Maul came barreling through the Ragged Flagon entrance. Maul was Dirge's brother and Maven Black-Briar's right-hand man. Though technically not a full member of their outfit, he still watched the streets for the Guild, reported sightings of possible recruits, and delivered messages. Lately he had been coming into the Flagon daily, bringing more contracts for the Guild than ever before.

"Got these for ya," Maul grunted, thrusting a stack of envelopes into Brynjolf's hand.

"Add those to the pile of things we'll never get done," Delvin muttered into his tankard. "I've already got a stack of contracts taller'n me."

"It's a good problem to have," Brynjolf pointed out, shuffling through the letters. "Hold on—Del, I think this one's from Vex."

Delvin promptly started choking on his drink. "What?!"

With nervous hands, Brynjolf drew his knife and cut open the envelope. The message was simple, penned in Vex's messy scrawl:

_Alive._

Brynjolf exhaled, silently thanking Nocturnal. The weight of his heart lightened considerably. Alora was alive and safe in the company of Karliah and Vex. She would be home soon. He could breathe.

"Let me read it," Delvin insisted, taking the parchment from Brynjolf's hand. "Well, would ya look at that?"

Brynjolf took the message back and tucked it into his belt. "I think it's time I told the Guild about our new Master."

"Aye," Delvin agreed. "And I'll be right behind you."

Brynjolf rose and disappeared into the Cistern. Minutes later, he returned, the entire Guild trailing behind him.

"What's this all about, eh, Bryn?" Vipir asked, leaning against the bar. "Yannic and I were in the middle of our pickpocketing exercises."

"Is _that_ why my lockpicks are missing?" Cynric blurted. "You little—"

"Everyone, everyone! Pipe down!" Brynjolf shouted. "I have an important announcement."

"Let me guess: you're leaving the Guild to fulfill your lifelong dream of becoming an exotic dancer," Thrynn goaded.

Brynjolf chuckled. "No, unfortunately not." He wrung his hands. Speechmaking was not one of his talents. "I've gathered you all here to discuss the matter of Mercer's succession."

Soft murmuring broke out. "We thought _you'd_ be the new Master, Brynjolf," said Tonilia. "That is what you and Mercer agreed to?"

Brynjolf nodded. "Aye, once upon a time, when Mercer named me Guild Second, he said that if anything were to happen to him, I would be his successor..._unless_ someone of greater aptitude came along."

More whispering circled the room.

"Shut up, would ya?" Delvin chided.

Delvin's support gave Brynjolf confidence. "Most of you know that I've never had the desire to lead," he continued. "I'm good at what I do, in the position I've got. But I'm not the best person to succeed Mercer." He took a deep breath. "Karliah, Vex, Delvin, and I have all talked. We feel that, for the Guild to have its best chance, our new leader should be Alora Swiftknife."

He expected arguing. He expected objections. He expected anything but the silence he received. Maybe this would be easier than he thought. "Alora is strong, capable, and a damn good thief. She owed us nothing, yet gave her unwavering allegiance from day one. She was willing to put her own life at risk to secure our stance with Nocturnal. And," he smiled slightly, "She _personally_ stabbed Mercer Frey in the neck."

Several of them chuckled. "Are you serious?" asked Rune.

"I saw it with my own eyes, lad." Brynjolf took a breath; the moment of truth was upon him. "The Guild...is home to all of us. We're a family, despite what Mercer would have told you. And since we're a family...I want to hear your voices." He cleared his throat. "If you believe that Alora Swiftknife should not be our new Guildmaster, speak now."

His eyes swept the room, locking on each member of the Guild, waiting for someone to object, but no one spoke. The only sound in the room was the popping of Vekel's cookfire. "No one's got anything to say, then?" he queried. "No? Good." A grin crossed his face. "Alora will be home from her mission soon. Let's give her a welcome she won't forget."

"Depends on how much she drinks, Bryn," Delvin commented.

Everyone laughed, and Brynjolf joined them. "All right, you lot. Back to your assignments."

When everyone filtered back to the Cistern, Brynjolf turned to Delvin. "I think that went well."

Delvin snickered. "Top notch, boss. You and your words of honey."

"Better than words of ale," Brynjolf drawled. "Lay off the drink. It's not even noon."

"Aw, shove it."

* * *

><p>The next day, Brynjolf was worse for wear. He finally managed to get a full night's rest, but the amount of work that awaited him in the morning made him feel as though he hadn't gotten a wink. Piles of contracts littered the Guildmaster's desk, to be sorted and assigned. Payments had to be divided. Several of the Riften townsfolk owed the Guild money, and Brynjolf had to ensure that they honored their debts.<p>

In the midst of all the chaos, a strange Bosmer decided to come wandering into the Flagon. He presented himself as Syndus, and asked if they were in need of a bowyer.

"I was looking for work in Windhelm when Torsten Cruel-Sea recommended I come here," the elf explained. "He said the Guild was growing again, and wont for merchants."

Although the elf could not have come at a worse time, Brynjolf was not about to turn him away. The Guild did need merchants, and more than that, fences. So, he enlisted Delvin's help. Delvin knew business, and he trusted him to set Syndus up right.

With Delvin busy, Brynjolf resolved to sort the contracts, a job originally designed for the Guild Thirds. And, although he was grateful to Vex for helping Karliah, he wished she were there to help staunch the flow of work.

By nightfall, Brynjolf was completely overwhelmed. Maul had come in not once, but three times that day bearing letters from potential clients. Among them was another special request, this time from Clan Battle-Born in Whiterun. Brynjolf was busy working out the details of the task when Delvin came running into the Cistern.

"Bryn!" Delvin wheezed. "Come quickly!"

Surprised, Brynjolf put his quill down. It must have been urgent if Delvin was running. The man hardly ever stood up, let alone _ran_. "What is it, Del?"

Delvin doubled over, taking in huge gulps of air. "Karliah—Vex—they're back."

Brynjolf didn't need to be told twice. He covered the distance between himself and the Flagon entrance within seconds, pushing open the door with such force that it slammed against the stone wall.

"Hey, watch it!" Vekel scolded.

Brynjolf ignored him and plowed his way to the two women standing by the Ratway exit. "Oh, thank Nocturnal you're back," he gasped, unprepared for how happy he was to see them.

"Yeah, thank the Dark Lady indeed," Delvin quipped. "Vexy, d'you have any idea how much work you left me with?"

"Not enough for you to stay sober, apparently," Vex retorted. Her voice shook with exhaustion; both women looked even worse than Brynjolf.

Delvin grinned. "How could I? I've been drinkin' myself to death, it's been so miserable without you."

Vex rolled her eyes, and Brynjolf laughed. "It's good to have things back to normal. Well, for the most part. There's much I have to fill you in on, and Alora's coronation to prepare for..." He furrowed his brow. "Where is she, anyway?"

Karliah and Vex exchanged glances. "There's...something we have to tell you," Karliah said gently.

Brynjolf started to speak, but Vex cut him off. "Before you lose your mind, yes, she is alive. I didn't lie to you."

He exhaled. "Then what is it, lass? I can handle it."

Karliah shot Vex a look that clearly said _keep your mouth shut, I'll handle this_. "Well," she began, "The good news is, she completed the job. The Key is safe."

"That's all fit and fine, but that doesn't answer my question."

Karliah seemed to turn over every word in her mouth carefully before speaking it. "Well...your intuitions were right, Brynjolf. It's very good that you sent us after her..."

Brynjolf listened with increasing apprehension as Karliah related her tale. It was just as bad, if not worse, than what he had expected. Alora had been critically injured, inches from death, and if Karliah had not found her, she would have met her demise. Only luck and Karliah's magic saved her life. As she spoke, Brynjolf knew that Karliah was beating around the bush when describing the extent of Alora's injuries, but it was no matter. He would have the truth soon enough.

Moreover, he was angry; angry with himself for not going with her, and angry with Karliah for sending her, even though in his heart, he knew it had to be done.

"I need to see her," he said, throat tight. "Where is she now?"

"Outside the door," Karliah replied, gesturing to the Ratway exit. "She wants to see you...alone."

When no one moved, Vex spoke up. "That means get out, all of you."

"Alright, Vexy, we can take a hint," Delvin muttered. "Let's give 'em some privacy." He took his drink and made for the Cistern, followed by Dirge, Tonilia, and Vekel.

"We'll go and get her," said Karliah. She vanished into the Ratway, Vex right behind her.

When they returned, Alora was between them. Her arms were draped over their shoulders, and a scarf shaded her face. Karliah and Vex seemed to be supporting most of her weight, but when she did take a step, her right leg crumpled.

Brynjolf covered the distance amidst them in two great strides. He took Alora into his arms, allowing her to fall into him. Karliah and Vex took their leave and disappeared into the Cistern.

They were alone.

"Lass..." he whispered. Then, slowly, he cupped her supple cheek and brought her lips to his. He marveled at the softness of her mouth; the way it molded perfectly to his, and how she tasted of honey. He could have lost her, he could have lost this beautiful creature that he was lucky enough to be holding.

Brynjolf broke the kiss. "Alora, I—"

"Don't let go of me," she murmured, and caught his mouth once more. He chuckled and smiled into her lips, resting his hands on the soft curve of her hips. She made a noise in the back of her throat, a low, humming sound. Her mouth opened and she bit his bottom lip.

A rush of heat colored Brynjolf's cheeks. His heart hammered against his ribcage, threatening to burst forth. Alora absently—or purposely?—rocked her hips into his, slowly running her hands down the length of his chest.

Alora was so close to him that he could feel the beat of her heart, slowly increasing as she kissed him. Her mouth was desperate against his, moving in time, stealing his breath. He groaned as she ran her tongue along his bottom lip. What was this woman _doing_ to him? He couldn't stop, and neither could she—they were enraptured, wrapped up in each others' bodies, so aware that they could have been parted forever.

Brynjolf moved his lips away from hers, planting soft kisses on the line of her jaw, slowly making his way down to her neck. He held her hips firmly against his, and she closed her eyes tightly, begging him to continue.

And he would oblige, slipping his hands underneath her linen shirt. One hand dropped and came to rest on the small of her back; the other roamed the taut skin of her stomach. His lips moved to caress her collarbones, and a small moan escaped her. "Bryn..."

His breathing grew heavy as he realized what was happening. This was moving too fast, she had just gotten home, she was injured—

"What're you doing?" She mumbled, her cheeks flushed red. "Don't stop..."

"Lass," he whispered into her neck. "You know we can't do this here."

"I know, but..." She sighed, and he could feel the beat of her heart begin to slow. "I need you."

"I feel the same way," he said gingerly. "But we'll have time to be together, trust me. I'll make sure of it."

She exhaled slowly. "Okay."

He smiled, but something wasn't right. She wouldn't look at him. In fact, she hadn't made eye contact with him at all.

"Alora?" he ventured, touching her cheek with the tips of his fingers.

She remained silent, leaning her forehead against his chest.

"Lass, look at me."

She took a shaky breath. "There's...something I have to show you." Peering up at him, she curled two fingers around her scarf, pulling the fabric out of her face. The torchlight warmed her skin, and—to Brynjolf's surprise—revealed a long, elaborate scar. Puckered pink tissue swathed her forehead, lined her jaw, spread down her neck, finally disappearing under her shirt. "I—I wanted to show you, before anyone else saw," she stammered. "Karliah—she did her best, but..."

Brynjolf stopped her, trailing his fingers down the length of her scar. "Lass," he said, smiling crookedly, "To me, you are, and always have been, the most beautiful thing on two feet. Nothing could make me think otherwise."

"Are you sure?" Alora swallowed. "They're never going to go away, Bryn. I'll be disfigured forever. I'll—"

He cut her off with a kiss, his bottom lip catching on her upper lip. "I love you," he said. "_All _of you."

The shock that passed over her face was so fervent that Brynjolf was certain her heart had failed. But then she smiled, and her surprise dissolved into tenderness. "I love you, too."

* * *

><p>There was a party that night. Vekel cooked up quite a feast for their Guildmaster-to-be; beef stew, fresh vegetables, and loaves of bread so hot they steamed when cracked open. Cold mead made Alora forget all about the pain in her leg, and Delvin told so many jokes that her stomach hurt from laughing so hard.<p>

No one commented on the scars she now wore, a permanent reminder of her time in the Pilgrim's Path. They did look at her differently, though. It was a strange kind of look, awe, or perhaps respect. Either way, Alora thought it folly. In her mind, she had simply done what was best for the Guild, and that was worth the sacrifice.

And, even though she was having fun, Alora kept looking for excuses to leave. Delvin was getting boisterous, and she wanted time to be alone with Brynjolf. Every so often she would catch his eye, asking a silent question: _Now? _He would wink at her then, playing his little game, but eventually he stood up and feigned a yawn.

"Well, I'm beat," he said, stretching his arms. "Lass, you'd best be getting to bed, too. Come on. I'll help you."

He bent down and scooped her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, grateful for his strength. As they left, Alora swore she heard Delvin mumble, "Yeah, they're going to bed all right." She smiled to herself. Old Delvin was too clever for his own good.

"Where are you taking me?" She asked Brynjolf, once they were out of earshot. "This place is anything but private..."

"Well, you'll be Guildmaster soon enough," Brynjolf said slyly. "It only makes sense that the Master would have her own quarters."

He reached the entrance to the Cistern, but instead of entering, he took a sharp right. They stopped at a door that Alora had seen, but never entered.

"This," said Brynjolf, "Is your new room."

"This? I thought this was a supply closet or something."

Brynjolf chuckled. "Hardly."

They entered the room. It was small and simple, with a double bed, dresser, chest, and two small end tables.

"This was Mercer's room," Brynjolf explained. "Vekel and I cleaned it out after you left. I wanted it to feel like yours."

"You mean I don't have to put up with Delvin's snoring anymore?"

Brynjolf grinned mischievously and dumped her into bed. "Oh no, lass. You get to put up with _mine_."

"Lucky me," she mused, pulling him closer. "Where were we again?"

"Somewhere around here, I think," said Brynjolf, kissing her neck. Then he hesitated, his words soft against her ear. "Are you sure about this, lass?"

She looked up at him, eyes flashing in the candlelight. "Yes," she breathed. "I am."

A smile touched his lips. Then, leaning over, he blew out the candle at her bedside. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," she said. "Now kiss me, damn it."


	26. The Shifting Winds

**A/N: **Well here it is, guys: the final chapter. I may have shed a tear or two while writing it. It's going to be hard letting this story go.

Thank you to those of you who read, reviewed, criticized, and all that good stuff. I hope you like the ending.

Walk with the shadows.

-Inkletter

* * *

><p>When Alora woke, she had trouble remembering where she was. The room was so dark she could scarcely see. Then, slowly, memories from the previous night began to flood her mind. A smile touched her lips. She reached to the opposite side of the bed, expecting to feel Brynjolf's warmth, and was surprised when her hand slipped over cold linen sheets instead. Confused, she sat up and fumbled for a tinderbox.<p>

Gently striking the flint, she lit the candles at her bedside. Warm light splashed the walls, throwing the room into sharp relief. Her bed was empty. Brynjolf was gone. Before she even had time to register her anger, a knock sounded at the door.

"Just a minute," she grunted, throwing her bare legs over the bedside. She winced as they struck the floor. Pain lanced through her bad leg and shot up her spine. _Well, getting dressed will be a chore_, she thought.

She barely managed to pull on her clothes; the shirt was easy, but the breeches proved a challenge. Her whole body was stiff from her night with Brynjolf and her still-healing injuries. Quickly she ran her fingers through her hair, which fell in elaborate tangles down her back.

The visitor knocked again."Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she grumbled, securing the last button of her shirt. "Come in."

Her face fell when Karliah entered the room. "What, unhappy to see me?" She joked, closing the door behind her.

"No," Alora half-lied. "...I thought you were Brynjolf."

Karliah's eyes glinted. "I'm sure you did."

"Do you know where he is? I need to strangle him."

A throaty laugh escaped the elf. "He and Delvin had to meet with an important client. He wanted me to tell you that he's very sorry for leaving, and that he would be back as soon as possible."

"Who's the client?" Alora wanted to know.

"Erik? Erikur? Something like that. He's from Solitude. Came all the way here to discuss a potential contract."

Alora rubbed the bridge of her nose. "The Guild is growing again."

"Yes, at a rate faster than we can manage, apparently." Karliah smiled. "And we need our new Master now more than ever. Brynjolf said he wants to have your coronation sometime today or tomorrow."

"Are you serious?"

"Completely. Why, are you worried?"

"A bit," Alora admitted. "I'm told that we've been dormant for years, and now we're growing so fast, and everyone's expecting me to lead..."

Karliah put a hand on her shoulder. "You won't be alone. Nobody expects you to do this by yourself. You have me, and Brynjolf, and Delvin. Even Vex will gladly help, and she'll do a great job of pretending to hate every second of it."

"Probably," Alora agreed. Then, for the first time, she noticed that Karliah was armed. Her glossy black bow was slung over her back, alongside a sheath of arrows. She gestured to the weapon."Why do you have your bow? You're not leaving, are you?"

A shadow crossed Karliah's face. "Actually, that's what I really wanted to talk to you about."

"You _are_ leaving? But you said—"

"No, no, I'm not leaving," Karliah said with a chuckle.

"Then what's going on?"

Karliah intertwined her fingers. "I wanted to...apologize."

Alora puckered her brows. "What for?"

"When I found you in the Sepulcher, I didn't even think to look for your bow. It wasn't anywhere near you. All I could think about was getting you out of there." She met Alora's eyes. "I'm truly sorry. I know how much that bow meant to you."

Alora brushed her off. "Karliah, I couldn't carry it. Leaving it behind was my choice. You don't owe me an apology. You don't owe me anything; you saved my life."

"But you never would've been hurt if I hadn't sent you. The trial was mine to face, and I knew it. I just couldn't bear the thought of facing my biggest failure." She sighed. "You nearly died because of my selfishness."

"Karliah—"

"You're more Nightingale than I'll ever be," Karliah continued, cutting her off. "And that's why I want to give you this." She lifted her bow, running a hand over the finish. "You gave up your weapon to return the Key, and in the process, you nearly gave your life. I think...I think you are more deserving to hold the Nightingale bow than me."

Alora bit her lip, too astonished for words. An archer's bow was something deeply personal. She could never imagine giving her weapon away for someone else to use. The only reason she left her bow behind at all was to return the Key, something she considered far more important than keeping her weapon. And here Karliah was, willing to give away the weapon she'd used for a quarter century, simply because she thought Alora deserved it more. The gesture was so overwhelming that Alora found herself holding back tears.

"I...no," Alora finally croaked. "Keep it, I'll...find another one."

"You say that like I'm giving you a choice," Karliah mused. "I want you to have it, Alora."

There was no stopping them now; the treacherous tears laced down her cheekbones, leaving salty tracks in their wake. Embarrassed, Alora turned away from Karliah's flickering gaze.

She felt the elf's arms encircle her. "Oh, Alora. There's no need to cry. Please don't cry."

"I don't want to, believe me!" She choked, burying her face in her friend's shoulder.

Karliah laughed and held Alora tightly, gently rubbing her back. "It's okay to cry sometimes, you know. You hold back a lot; I can tell."

"No I don't," Alora insisted, a fresh flow of water staining Karliah's shirt.

"Yes you do, don't lie to me. Don't be ashamed of your feelings, Alora. I'll always be here for you. You're my friend. You're the best friend I've had in years."

They hugged then, two archers, two thieves, two best friends; two people incomplete without the other.

"Thank you," Alora whispered, once she had calmed down. "For everything."

* * *

><p>"Look, I've never been good at these things, so I'm just going to keep it short," said Brynjolf.<p>

The Guild Second stood in the center of the Cistern, flanked by Delvin and Vex. Alora was situated in front of them, leaning on Karliah for support. The rest of the Guild watched from several paces behind her. Everyone was there; even Maven Black-Briar had taken time out of her busy schedule to witness Alora's coronation. It was a day none of them, least of all Alora, were wont to forget.

"Several months ago, I caught a thief looting a merchant's stall," Brynjolf began, his mouth curved in a smile. "And when I approached her, I thought she would gut me for sure. Drew her knife so fast I barely had time to react."

Laughs echoed through the Cistern, Alora's among them. "I had to bring justice to my name."

"Aye, and that you did, lass. But you brought justice to so much more than your name; you brought justice to Mercer Frey. Actually, you brought justice to them both at the same time."

More laughter broke upon Alora's ears. Even Maven cracked a smile.

"But, in all seriousness, being Guildmaster means more than just exacting revenge, or getting a cut of all the loot. It's about being a leader, and keeping this rabble in order." He cleared his throat nervously. "That being said, I propose that the position of Guildmaster should be yours."

Even though she had already accepted, and the Guild Thirds had seconded Brynjolf's motion, they still had to do it publicly. It was more of a formality than anything, and an annoying one at that. "I accept your proposal," Alora alleged. "I promise to lead the Guild to the best of my ability. And," she smiled crookedly, "I promise to be everything Mercer wasn't."

Brynjolf turned to the Guild Thirds. "Delvin, do you agree to this proposal?"

Delvin nodded. "Agreed."

"Vex?"

"Sure, why not."

"Karliah?"

The elf winked at Alora. "Absolutely."

"Then everyone is in agreement," said Brynjolf with a smile. "So, with my right as Guild Second, I name you Master of the Thieves Guild. May you bring us good luck and good fortune." He turned to face the rest of the Guild. "Now all of you, back to work!"

"You really don't waste time, do you?" Alora asked as everyone returned to their respective duties.

"I was trying to save you the embarrassment," Brynjolf explained. "I know you don't like being put on the spot."

"Oh, don't make this about me," Alora teased. "You were shaking like a leaf."

"Alright, both of you," Karliah chided. "Don't we all have things to do?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask the boss?" Delvin asked, grinning at Alora.

"Boss?" Alora repeated. "Something tells me I'll never get used to that."

* * *

><p>In the months following Alora's coronation, the Guild continued to grow. Contracts poured in like wine from a bottle. So much gold was circulating that Alora decided it was time to buy new furniture; softer beds, bigger tables, and better training equipment, among other things. She even commissioned a statue of Lady Nocturnal to be placed in the Cistern, a constant reminder that the Guild was under the shadow of her wings.<p>

Brynjolf was busier than ever. He focused day and night on finding more recruits to help slow the endless barrage of contracts. He barely had time for Alora and would often brush her off with hasty remarks such as "sorry, lass, I've got important things to do," or "we'll speak again some other time." It saddened her, but in the end, his efforts were successful, and she forgave him. They gained several new members in a short amount of time, and all proved to be competent additions to the Guild. Eventually, with their faction spreading so rapidly, Brynjolf did not even have to sweep the streets; recruits came looking for them instead. For the first time in his life, Brynjolf was forced to turn people away, because if he didn't, there would not be enough space in the Cistern to house everyone comfortably.

More merchants found their way into the Ragged Flagon. In addition to Syndus the bowyer, the Guild now had its own alchemist and blacksmith. Thanks to them, the Guild was never short on weapons, armor, or potions.

Alora's injuries healed, thanks to Karliah. She regained full use of her leg and never again looked upon magic as something to be feared.

And, because of her status as Nightingale and service to the Guild, Alora gave Karliah the position of Guild Second, to work beside Brynjolf. With their help, along with Delvin and Vex, the Guild restored its footing in all of Skyrim's major cities: Windhelm, Whiterun, Markarth, and Solitude. They had fences in each hold and couriers to deliver contracts to their base in Riften. Everyone was thrilled with the amount of gold being thrown around, and none more so than Alora.

With work coming in from five cities instead of one, Alora realized that they had grown too big for their breeches. So, after a lengthy discussion with her Seconds and Thirds, she announced that the Guild would be forming other, smaller stations in each of the four main holds, with Riften remaining their home base. This would make it much easier to carry out contracts in those cities, cut down on resources, and save time.

It was a good plan, but alas, it involved much traveling and organization. Alora sent Delvin, Vex, and Karliah to help establish the new stations and enlist recruits from each of those cities. For a time, Alora had her Second and Thirds leading the new bases. After a few months, though, they were able to train new leaders and return home.

Whenever she could, Alora, too, traveled to each of her new Guild bases, and always took Brynjolf with her. They never made a formal announcement about the status of their relationship, but everyone eventually found out on their own. It wasn't easy to keep secrets in a family so close, but Alora and Brynjolf weren't really trying to hide it anyway.

At times, though, she was forced to send Brynjolf to check up on one of their outside bases alone. She hated being away from him, but as Guildmaster, she had to put her personal feelings aside. It was difficult, but there was usually enough work to keep her mind away from him. And she was never happier than when he came home.

After Brynjolf returned from one such journey to Markarth, he and Alora found themselves wandering the streets of Riften, content in each other's company. "Sneak thieves," the guards muttered as they walked past, and Alora would laugh, Brynjolf's low chuckle complimenting hers like a harmony to a melody.

When the stars came out, the two thieves sat perched on a low stone wall, watching the sky and holding each other.

"You seem to be in awfully high spirits these days, lass," Brynjolf observed.

She smiled. "You're to blame for that."

"Am I now?" He kissed her lightly. "That's good to hear."

They were quiet for a time, observing the city life. Madesi was closing his stall and eying them suspiciously. Talen-Jei swept leaves away from the Bee and Barb entrance. Mjoll and Aerin patrolled the streets, performing their nightly rounds.

"I met an Altmer today, while you were out collecting debts," Brynjolf said, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "She came to the Flagon, claiming to be a practicing face-sculptor. Said she could change anyone's face into a work of art."

"Are you saying..."

Brynjolf cupped her cheek. "Your face is already a work of art to me, lass, but if you really wanted to...she said that removing your scars would be simple. For a fee, of course."

Alora thought for a moment, but the answer was already clear in her mind. "No," she said. "My scars are a part of me now, like, say, archery is a part of me, and the Guild, and you. If I have them removed, I lose a part of my past. A part of who I am." She traced the crinkled flesh with the tips of her fingers. "Besides, I need them to scare the new recruits."

Brynjolf laughed. "They do make you look tougher, there's no question about that. And for what it's worth, I agree with your decision. They're a reminder to us of what you've done for the Guild."

"Sometimes I think I would like to forget what happened," she confessed. "But it was worth it. The Guild...I never dreamed it would end up like this, especially under my reign."

"I've never been more proud of the Thieves Guild," he agreed. "Or its Master. You're a light beyond the shadows, lass."

Alora had no response to that, and she didn't even try to invent one. She simply kissed him, her lips soft against his, trying to convey all of her love and appreciation for his comment in the only way she could. He seemed to understand; for underneath her mouth, she felt him smile.

Some time later, they decided to head in for the night, and hopped down from the wall.

"Delvin should be home from Whiterun tomorrow," Alora commented as they made their way to the secret Guild entrance in the cemetery.

"Oh, good. I've missed the old man."

"Get this. In his letter, he told me he's planning on proposing to Vex when he gets back."

"Oh, gods," Brynjolf muttered. "You're in for a real spectacle."

"He's tried this before?"

"Many times, lass, many times."

Alora clicked the button to open the entryway. A fake coffin bearing the Thieves Guild shadowmark slid back into the wall, revealing a stairway into the Cistern. "What if she actually said yes?"

Brynjolf laughed raucously, clutching at his stomach. "Oh, lass," he wheezed. "That's a _really_ good joke."

Alora laughed with him. "Poor Del. He really doesn't stand a chance, does he?"

"Not in the slightest." He gestured to the entrance. "But let's head in. I think Vekel's cooking the deer Niruin shot this morning, and you know how he gets when we're _late to dinner_."

"Like a fretting mother, that one."

And so the thieves descended the stairs, into the Guild and the future that awaited them.


End file.
